#repeating the same old cycle when it comes to them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joelsgoldrush · 4 months ago

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“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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sachinteng · 4 days ago

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Syntax Error

After years of being asked about it, I thought I'd tell the story of my peculiar name, and explain what this little logogram I started using is about.

I don't look like my name should be Sachin. South Asian folks point it out to me all the time. If you don't know, Sachin is a Sanskrit name, and I am visibly not Desi, so people are often confused. People usually ask if I'm named after Sachin Tendulkar, the famous cricket player. And for a period of time my local Indian restaurant thought I was Indian and would give me free rice! Until they found out I wasn't and stopped. Very sad day.

So why am I named Sachin if I'm not Desi?

The name my parents gave me is 十晴. Specifically my dad. My father insisted on naming me. Spent months obsessing over it. But he never gave me an English name. And on the day I was born my dad was…asleep, didn't answer the phone which rang all day, and missed the entire birth. To this day my mother tells this story whenever I miss a phone call. So, when I was born they had no idea what to put on my birth certificate.

The pinyin translation for 十晴 is Shí Qíng. But my mom didn't know pinyin. The lawyer who drew up the paperwork for my birth certificate was Indian, and when he heard 十晴, he said, 'that sounds like Sachin. I'll just put that!' And my mother, tired and alone in the hospital, in a foreign land called Flushing, Queens, said okay. And who can blame her.

And that's how I got my name. In the most arbitrary, accidental way possible. My dad, after months and months of hyper-focusing on a name, fumbled it all right at the end. I wish I could say my name was meaningful in Hànyǔ at least but, my name is very strange to Hànyǔ speakers as well.

The character 十 means 'ten' as in the number 10. And 晴 means 'clear sunny skies.' It's the kind of word a weather reporter will commonly use in the forecast. Honestly, Ten Sunny Skies sounds like a Wǔxiá character. Like Eight Flying Lotuses or Five Poison Fists, or something. Not gunna lie, I prefer this explanation.

So my dad loves to tell this joke…about how his name is too hard to write. It has so many strokes in it that when he was in school taking tests it took him so long to write his name that when he was finished writing it the other students already finished taking the whole test. So, when he has a child he's going to make sure to give them the easiest name with the fewest strokes possible.

And that's where it comes from. Some dinner party joke he liked to tell friends. Thanks dad.

My name has a different meaning to me now as an adult. Over the years many people have heard my name and said, 'Do you know the story of Hòu Yì 后羿?'

An old folktale says there used to be 10 Suns. They would cycle one at a time, because there can never be more than one sun in the sky at the same time. But, one day the suns got lonely, they wanted to see each other and broke the rules. All 10 suns burned at the same time. To stop the suns from burning the entire world down Hòu Yì, the legendary archer, shot the suns out of the sky and left just one, the sun we have today.

It's a fable about doing too much, not thinking about the consequences, and literally burning out. Something I relate to more than I'd like. I burned out hard a few years ago and recovering was a long, painful journey that I never want to repeat.

In the end, the last Sun loses all their siblings and has to carry the burden alone. But, if they'd just had patience and paced themselves, there would still be 10 suns across 'Ten Sunny Skies 十晴.'

#hou yi #animation #short story

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traceybrakes · 1 year ago

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Let's Talk About Un-ironicizing Art!

In light of a lot of the conversations i've seen surrounding Death Grips and recent events concerning them, I want to take the time to point out that this is a good time to start thinking about how we engage with art on the whole!

For a long time, the irony poisoned method of consumption went unchecked in all facets of internet culture. As an internet musician in current day, I have noticed a sharp disconnect between artists and enthusiasts/casual listeners when it comes to attitudes surrounding music specifically, though I've witnessed it permeate all forms of art in some way.

I see people who have grown scared to engage on deeper levels, intentionally severing any resonant connections or knowledge learned from a piece of media before it has the chance to take root. In short, dare to be vulnerable! Dare to enjoy something on the basis that you yourself resonate with it, and not for any other nebulous reasoning. When masses of people relegate art to a spectacle, not only do artists become more likely to be disenchanted with the passions that fuel their work, but the audience ultimately suffers as well. All art at that point becomes less an extension of ourselves, less a vehicle to explore our identities, and is rendered a meaningless hulking sludge, or worse, the opponent to an already shrinking and narrow worldview.

Be not afraid to be unabashedly in love with the work that inspires you. Be not afraid to have the things you love misunderstood by some. When you engage with work new and old, make sure to do it for yourself. Making and observing art is inherently selfish, but being selfish is not inherently misguided. Allow yourself to learn, grow, discover, and repeat that cycle until the day you die.

To speak more candidly about my own experience, throughout the course of my life, there has been art that I've held near and dear to my identity, and own journey of self discovery that I seldom find others who hold the same sentiments to. I've always found this exciting. Exciting to hold something close to my chest as something so personal, and even more exciting when I can ease up on that grip when I find someone who I can share that with. However, I've also been through the throes of how the internet tends to chew up and spit out art that generally isn't understood by the many. I've fallen victim myself to the hive mind mentality that circles some artists and the cult of non-identity around them. This off-color ouroboros of knowing all about an artist's work and simultaneously upholding this facade of vapid complacency. I've come to the conclusion that if being openly supportive and connected to an artist's work or a particular piece of work automatically renders a person uninteresting and unambiguous at the very least, then I will live happily as an uninteresting open book. At the worst times, we see this line of thinking contribute to Death Grips being mocked and belittled en masse by people who are unwilling to engage with their art before they even get that far. It's heartbreaking, to me at least to see people put so much effort, emotion, and passion into transforming culture for the better to be rewarded with a crowd that's plugging their ears.

I realize I run the risk of sounding self indulgent, or even patronizing to an extent; I apologize because that isn't my intention, I'm hoping to see gears shift at least on a micro level surrounding attitudes towards art appreciation. Remember to dare to be in love holistically with the art you engage with! Speak of the things you love in a way that makes that clear to others, and consider your peers to do the same! You and the people around you can only be better off for it.

#long post #really long post #music #death grips #the internet is full of bright and beautiful art so why not help yourself

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zeropro · 5 days ago

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Thundercracker: Origins

New Trine AU Fanfic posted on AO3! Check it out if you want, this one's a two parter about Thundercracker (and Starscream).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62847191/chapters/160913611

Full chapter under the cut:

Chapter 1

The first of the seeker class was shipped directly to the air force. When it became clear that even a dedicated warbuild could not survive the intricacies of aerial combat on instinct alone, they began sending them to the Cybertronian War Academy first, for basic training at the very least. When enrollment for that became too full to manage, it was then deemed appropriate for certain city-states to offer civilian jobs to newly onlined seekers. Most of these seekers found themselves sequestered in Vos; as the central location of Cybertron’s air force, they stood out the least in that city.

It was there, in the lower end of Vos, that a certain blue seeker lived out his days. His name was Thundercracker, and nothing exciting ever happened to him.

Thundercracker would say he preferred it that way. An exciting life was a demanding life. It meant expectations and hard decisions and the stress of unpredictability. Thundercracker avoided all that by keeping up a dutiful routine. Everyday he’d wake up, refuel, go to work, come back home, refuel again, watch the news, recharge, and repeat. It was a quiet life. He didn’t go out for fun, and he didn’t try to make friends. Other mechs stressed him out: the city was full of grounders that grabbed and slapped at his wings and seekers that harassed him for not being military. Thundercracker didn’t want to join the military. Thundercracker didn’t want to be anything at all.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight (as a warbuild, he was quite literally built for fighting), and it wasn’t that he couldn't fly, (in his humble opinion, Thundercracker could outfly most of the air force if given the chance); it was just, despite his class function, Thundercracker didn’t have the temperament for a soldier’s life. Consequences were so much steeper when death was involved. Dying scared him, but being forced to kill scared him more; and he would kill, if the military told him to. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but the law was the law, and Thundercracker always did what he was told.

The military was run by grounders, as was much of Cybertronian society. It was a hold over from the Functionalist ideology that ruled the past, which still permeated much of Cybertronian law to this day. Thundercracker found it utterly ridiculous–after all flight frames were clearly the superior model–but he didn’t make the rules.

The senate made the rules, and all he had to do was follow them in order to live out his life in peace.

Delivering packages wasn’t an interesting or glamorous job, but it did mean he got to fly a lot. Gliding from lower Vos to the High Spires and back down to the Lights Districts, the routes were monotonous and dull, but he could focus on the air across his wings and the thrum of his engines to keep himself sane. Flying was one freedom he would not give away. And so it went, day after day, cycle after deca-cycle, the vorns blending into one another as Thundercracker repeated his routine.

Half a million stellar cycles of the same old, same old, and nothing exciting ever happened.

Only, that wasn’t entirely true. There was one notable exception to the uneventfulness that was Thundercracker’s entire existence, and that exception always made itself known when he least expected.

It was a day like any other: same morning routines, same familiar routes, processor dimly wandering over several different topics without ever committing to any particular thought. There was no reason to believe anything other than a half cube of energon and a quiet evening in front of the vid screen would be waiting for him at home.

He was standing in the middle of his tiny apartment, about to take a sip from his cube, when a peculiar knock assaulted his door.

Tap, tap, rapitty tap.

Thundercracker slowly put down his cube as he turned to stare at the door, wondering if he had imagined the sound. After the briefest of moments, he heard it again.

Tap, tap, rapitty tap!

His vents stuttered in a suppressed groan. It had been an eternity, yet he’d recognize the sound anywhere. There was only one mech who ever knocked on Thundercracker’s door in that exact fashion. A mech who only ever showed up when he was in some kind of dubiously dire situation. A mech Thundercracker never quite had enough energy for.

That mech looked way too happy to see him when he opened the door.

“Starscream.”

“Oh good! You remember me!”

The white, red, and blue seeker at his doorstep grinned manically up at him. He seemed to be panting ever so slightly, as if he’d been straining his engines, and a stray suspicion at the back of Thundercracker’s processor wondered who or what might have chased him here.

“You better not have done anything actually illegal this time,” he said with a glower.

Starscream barked out a laugh. “Of course not! But I do need your help. Follow me!”

That was all the warning he got. Thundercracker hardly had time to register the command before Starscream kicked off the ground into his alt mode and zoomed away. Without thinking, Thundercracker shut the door and raced after him. It wasn’t until he caught up to Starscream’s tail wind that he even wondered what they were doing.

Starscream set a brisk pace. Vos became a blur of lights beneath them as they flew towards the outskirts of town, turbines humming in tandem.

This was their first time flying together.

Glancing over at the smaller seeker, it occurred to him that he and this mech were still practically strangers. So much time had passed since their first fateful encounter, and yet they’d only interacted a handful of times, and only ever when Starscream needed someone to bail him out of trouble. It was his own damn fault, Thundercracker supposed: he was only in this position because of the one time in his function he didn’t mind his own business. The one time he decided, on a whim, to deviate from his regular path, to follow a trail of energon down that dark alleyway.

That was where he found him. The terrified seeker had somehow crammed himself into the seams of the buildings, knees drawn up to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as possible. It was unclear how long he had been there, sat in a pool of his own energon. It had taken forever to coax him out of his hiding spot. Both his hands were missing.

Thundercracker helped him. Of course he did. He wouldn’t have felt right leaving him there, and it wasn’t like it would cost him much. He had carried him home, helped him refuel, and then walked him to the nearest clinic. The medical bill did cost him quite a lot, but it had seemed like the right thing to do.

And then it was over; the next day, he was gone. He hadn’t expected to ever see the seeker again after that, and his life went back to normal.

The first time Starscream showed up on his doorstep asking for help, so much time had passed that Thundercracker hardly recognized him at first. Gone was that haunted look in his optics, completely replaced by an obnoxiously cocky attitude and whirlwind personality that easily commanded the room. Thundercracker barely registered having let him in before the tri-colored seeker was lounging on his couch, drinking his energon and chatting up a storm.

And so it was that Starscream would disappear for a hundred vorn or so at a time before suddenly turning up at Thundercracker’s door needing to borrow credits or a place to crash after having lost his latest job to one thing or another. There was always a story behind it. Starscream was absolutely full of stories! In the spans of time between each visit, Starscream would fly all over Cybertron, living in several different cities, working several different jobs that all defied the limitations of his frame type’s function. He had at different times been a medic, a prosecutor, a frame model, a politician, and apparently even a functionalist priest for a brief stint. That last one had gotten him in trouble with the law, but he swore it wasn’t his fault.

Thundercracker wasn’t entirely sure how much he believed Starscream’s tall tales, embellished as they were, but it was impossible not to be drawn in by the absurdity that was Starscream’s life. Starscream talked about everything, from politics to theater, from how badly Thundercracker needed to maintain his polish to the best way to drink engex, and of course every work-related drama he’d ever been involved in.

The more Starscream talked about himself, the less Thundercracker felt like he knew him.

Who was he really? Where had he come from?

And where exactly were they going now?

He scarcely finished the thought when the roar of engines caught his attention. Two seekers had entered the air space behind them and were quickly gaining speed. Emblazoned on their wings was the symbol of Cybertron’s air force.

“What did you do?!” Thundercracker shouted at his companion, completely incensed that Starscream would not only get in trouble with the military, but decide to drag him into it as well. Thundercracker had work in the morning, he couldn't afford to go to jail!

Starscream’s wings wiggled slightly; the fragger was giggling.

“Don’t worry about it, Thundercracker! Just keep up and follow my lead!”

Starscream blasted off. The guy was fast, and Thundercracker could barely manage to keep up. The military seekers gave chase, but at a much slower pace than would be expected, allowing the distance between them to surmount. Just as Thundercracker thought they might actually lose them, Starscream banked upwards so tightly it forced Thundercracker to pull an insane swivel and flip just to swing back around. He could see Starscream making loops ahead of him, giving him a chance to catch up, but as soon as Thundercracker was at his wing, he was forced into another dangerous stunt. Starscream spun and pressed and volleyed almost playfully around him, corralling him into tight turns and sharp dives and complicated flight maneuvers seemingly at random. It was all he could do not to collide in the air, ailerons straining against the turbulence.

It was exhilarating!

Thundercracker had never flown this hard before. He spent so much time retracing the same inter-city routes that he forgot just how amazing it felt to really cut loose in the open sky. With Starscream’s antics adding an extra layer of complexity and challenge to the flight, Thundercracker could feel himself pushing his frame and concentration to their limits in a way that just felt good.

For a blissful few breems, it was as if nothing else existed outside of the controlled chaos of their flight, but as soon as they began to descend, Thundercracker remembered where he was and who was still in the air with them. His earlier trepidation slammed back into his frame as the other two seekers followed them to the ground, and he self-consciously wondered if they had been watching the entire time. At least Starscream seemed completely unbothered by their presence, laughing high and bright as he transformed into his landing. It was a small assurance that neither of them were going to get arrested tonight for whatever it was they were just doing.

Thundercracker landed stiffly, keeping Starscream between him and the seekers touching down a short distance away. The pair transformed into root mode with all the practiced bravado of seasoned warriors. They wore the nosecones of their alt modes tall and proud over their helms, in the traditional fashion of Polyhexian seekers. Thundercracker gulped– they looked really cool.

“Well?” Starscream said, turning to address them with an arrogant smirk plastered on his faceplates, arms splayed wide like a gladiator taunting his opponent. “I do believe I have proven my point!”

One of the seekers turned his helm away with a growl, but his partner gave them a good natured smirk. “Fine, we will concede. That was some pretty impressive flying up there. You know, the force could use more seekers with your talent.”

Starscream examined his claws. “I’d be wasted on the military. My skillsets were honed for free flight, not rank and file.”

“You’d be surprised. Command positions do open up occasionally.”

“Oh?”

They were just chatting now, Thundercracker realized. With a few more words of polite banter, the two seekers soon kicked off and flew away into the skyline, leaving Starscream looking far too pleased with himself and Thundercracker completely and utterly baffled by the exchange.

“...What was that?!”

Starscream flinched at the tone, but Thundercracker was too tense to feel bad about it. The smaller seeker at least had the decency to look apologetic as he turned to face him with a placating grin. “Heh, it’s a long story, but I may have gotten a bit overcharged at a bar a few cities down and implied I could outfly a pair of air marshals who would NOT let it go. In my defence, I tried to avoid them! They just kept finding me, demanding I back my claim!”

Thundercracker felt sick with embarrassment. “THAT’S what you dragged me out here to do? To…to…skydance in front of a pair of professionals? What made you think…I’ve never even flown formation before in my life! I…Oh Primus, I must have looked like an idiot.”

“But you were amazing!” Starscream praised, his smile beaming with sincerity. “I did NOT go easy on you up there, but you matched me wing for wing! Listen, I told them I could outfly any pair on Cybertron, and these mechs have been hounding me for stellar cycles to prove it to them. And we flew circles around them! Thundercracker, if that was your first time flying paired, then you are a sky-blessed genius!”

Thundercracker immediately deflated at the earnest praise being heaped on him. He was still really miffed at Starscream for taking advantage of him like that, at how easily it all could have gone bottom up, how one wrong move could have sent them both spiraling to the ground in an embarrassed heap. But they hadn’t. He didn’t mess up, and they didn’t crash and make fools of themselves, and according to a pair of air force trained seekers, he had been good enough to impress. He couldn't deny how good the validation felt, how good the flying had felt. His wings fluttered bashfully as he let the remaining tension bleed out of his frame.

Sensing the change, Starscream pranced to his side and hooked their arms together. “Hey, how about I make it up to you? Come on! It’ll be my treat.” And before he could ask what that meant, he was dragged back into the air. With a resigned chuckle, he transformed and followed Starscream back to the city.

They filled the rest of the night with dive bars and live shows as he let Starscream drag him all across town. Everywhere they went, Starscream somehow made himself the center of attention, allowing Thundercracker to always be part of the action while staying out of the spotlight. It was comfortable, following Starscream around. The tri-colored seeker always knew what he wanted and where to get it, and Thundercracker never once had to worry about what to say or what to do next. They drank high-grade and shared stories and danced the night away.

And then it was morning, and Starscream was gone.

It was all an expected part of the long established pattern; just as Starscream always showed up when he least expected it, he also always left without warning or care. No ‘goodbyes’ or ‘we’ll meet agains’, just one moment there and gone the next. Thundercracker stood in the middle of his tiny apartment and sipped from his cube as he got ready for work, and something about the space seemed just a tad bit quieter than it used to. He flew his same old routes down the same city blocks and the air traffic felt just a tad bit slower than it used to.

That night he watched the news and thought about flying.

#fanfiction #fanfic #transformers #thundercracker #starscream

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awrkive · 1 month ago

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angst + 14 + with jk make it HURT miss dee i trust you with my life 🙏🏻

14. "If you walk way from me, I don't want you coming back."

note: im genuinely so annoyed i cant keep my words bcs this drabble is 2.5k words but i promise the next ones are gonna be under 1k 😭

Two lines.

The first one is clear as day, and you’ve tried so hard to blind yourself from the other one that’s just barely there – barely because it’s faint but you’re not stupid and you know it is there. That it exists. That it’s crystal clear there are two. Fucking. Lines on the damned test.

Two lines.

It’s funny how a single plastic stick can ruin your life in a matter of minutes.

Your mother didn’t lie at all when she said that you’d know these things. That you will feel it when it’s there. A month ago you didn’t get your period and while you could have an irregular cycle sometimes, you had a bad feeling about this particular one; the fatigue didn’t feel usual, your hips and breasts are growing and it didn’t make sense. You hated key lime pie for most of your life but recently you feel like you could eat it for the rest of your days.

That was not fucking normal.

And when you vomited again this morning after waking up, you decided to take a test.

It was past 7pm when you got home from the drugstore, and thirty minutes had passed since then when you found out the result. There are three sticks in the strewn paper bag all over the sink – all of which shows you the same thing.

Two damn lines.

You’re pregnant and you don’t know what to feel about it.

But who are you lying to? You know exactly what you feel about it. You feel like utter shit. Absolute fucking shit and there’s a lodge in your throat that breaks into a sob when it finally dawns on you that holy fuck you’re fucking pregnant. There’s a baby growing in your womb and you can barely feed yourself waiting tables at a shitty restaurant downtown.

You cry.

Your shoulders shake as you sob silently in the lavatory of your tiny bathroom, the chipped edge of the mirror and the broken faucet reminding you once again that you are not ready for this. You’re only 23. You’re barely making ends meet. The gap year you took off school that was only supposed to be one year stretched into two because of financial issues and now… this? A kid? What would you do with a child? You aren’t ready. You just aren’t ready.

This was not supposed to happen.

You think that over again. This was not supposed to happen. It repeats in your head over and over again like a broken record until you break into yet again another sob.

You dig your fingers in the porcelain sink, let your body fall low as you cry until your throat hurt. Tears flowed until you felt numb inside. You wept until your body trembled, weak and unsteady, struggling to throw the sticks into the trash, wrapped as carefully as you could manage in your fragile state, afraid Jungkook might find them.

He comes home in two hours.

And for those two hours, you lie on the couch with tear-stained cheeks, thinking about what he would say; how he would react.

You wish you live in the timeline where this news could be good rather than bad. Wish this could’ve brought you to tears of joy instead of… this hollow ache in your chest trapping your airflow you could barely breathe.

But that timeline is non-existent. You’re living in the now. You’re a twenty-three-year-old woman living with your twenty-five-year-old boyfriend – and while both of you have jobs to sustain yourself in a rundown, shitty, sketchy apartment, having a kid is not ideal. It’s not in the picture. It never fit in the picture – not at all. You’ve never discussed this and you were mostly certain Jungkook would not receive this news with open arms and a wide grin.

The thought brought you to tears again until you fell asleep.

———

“Babe?”

Jungkook feels like a kid on Christmas day. He feels a bout of energy, and he wants nothing but to unleash it on you – and there are fun ways he can unleash it on you, alright – things that you both will enjoy on this cold January night.

He can’t help it. His grin only grows wider when he steps into the threshold of your house and the waft of home fills his nostrils. This part of town is shitty but you’ve done your best to make your apartment smell good. It’s that citrus… lavender… whatever the fuck candle you buy, Jungkook thinks.

Hah. He should’ve bought you one or two, huh? You fucking love those scented candles. You hoard the hell out of them even though they could be expensive. It’s worth it though… and with the bonus he’s holding in his wallet, why not?

The thought only makes him smile even more.

You’d love the news. You’d light up in that usual way you do when Jungkook does something remotely good. Anything that means he’s straying away from the destructive life he’s always led before he took your relationship seriously – you love it. And Jungkook admits he loves it, too. Loves doing good for you. Loves when he makes you happy.

He doesn’t believe in changing for other people because fuck that, this is his own life and he does whatever he wants with it – but you’re a part of it now, a great part, and Jungkook will be damned if he loses you. He certainly did before – and for all the dumb decisions he’s made in his twenty five years, that one was the worst.

“Baby?” he calls again when you give no answer. He’s sure you’re home by now, though, and so he crosses the distance to the threshold and living area, finding you in the couch cocooned like a burrito.

Chuckling, he steps closer and lets the cushion dip in his weight when he sits on it. You’d give him an earful if you see him letting his outside clothes touch your sheets but right now all he gives a fuck about is you hearing the news about his promotion at work. Granted, it’s not “promotion” per say, it’s just that he’s going up from being an apprentice to an actual tattoo artist at the shop. He can finally quit that job at that shit-paying convenience store and can focus fully on the shop which he actually likes doing. And he can finally get a more formal pay as well. It’s all for you.

When Jungkook rolls you to his side, he swiped away the hair that’s gotten all over your face. You stirred, but when you wake up, Jungkook frowns.

“What the fuck happened?”

Your eyes are puffy and red. Swollen. You look tired, drawn, exhausted. And Jungkook couldn’t have mistaken the tear stains on your cheeks for anything other than you've been crying.

“H-huh?” You say, obviously still not fully conscious.

“Were you crying?” Jungkook asks, concern growing heavy. He tries to think if you texted him today about something – but other than your usual texts of I love yous and I miss yous, there was nothing. So what could you have been possibly crying about?

It seems like you’ve snapped the haze of sleep off your mind because you quickly turn away from his touch, untangling yourself from the sheets and sitting upright.

“Nothing.”

Jungkook’s brows crease even more.

“What?”

“I said nothing!” You snapped, which surprised the both of you. Jungkook doesn’t have a clue what the fuck is going on – but then you turn around to look at him and you look so fragile and scared shitless and sad and broken that it just sends him into utter confusion when you stutter, “I’m– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook says, a bit irritated now because he doesn’t like it when you skirt around what you feel. “What happened?”

He tries to ignore the fact that when he lifts his hand to put it on your thigh, you flinch and your muscles grow tense. As if you don’t want his touch.

“I was… I was watching a movie.” you say, lips tilting into a small smile Jungkook knows is fake.

Now he’s just perplexed. What the fuck is all this about? You’re flinching at his touch and you can’t even look him in the eye as you fake a smile at him.

He peels his hand away from you and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah?” He knows he has a temper. And it definitely shows when he continues to saracastically add, “Pretty fucking dramatic movie, huh?”

You stay quiet but you definitely have a physical reaction to his sharp tone.

Every single second that passes and you still don’t utter a single word, Jungkook begins to feel like this air is growing into tension.

And his defense mechanism gets the best of him.

“Alright, lay it on me,” he says with a leveled tone, staring at you coldly. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Jungkook thinks that must be it. There’s no way there’s another reason why you’re acting like this; looking at him in that solemn way.

Two years. Two years of trying to fix him and you’ve finally reached the rim of your dam. You finally realized he’s not worth your time, that you could have so much better, be with better men, have a better life with them than whatever the fuck you have and will ever have with him.

Jungkook’s always been aware of that. It’s not even self-deprecation, it’s just facts.

But fuck if it didn’t hurt to confront it this way.

“I’m pregnant.”

Two words.

Two words and it’s enough to make Jungkook’s head spin.

“What?” He asks again, because there’s no way you just said that.

“I’m pregnant.” you repeat again, this time louder. Jungkook sees you inhaling a sharp breath, and it’s clear to him when your eyes begin to tear up. “I’m pregnant, Jungkook.”

His mouth closes and opens like a fish in a tank. He goes from confused then disbelief then just… nothing.

“You’re… you’re pregnant.”

You obviously take his tone as something different, and Jungkook can’t blame you when you snap once again. “When you put your dick in me without a condom, that’s what usually happens, so yes, I am pregnant with your child, Jungkook.”

“You let me put my dick in you without a fucking condom,” Jungkook retorts, looking at you incredulously. “What the fuck, __? What– what happened with– are you not taking your pills?”

“Fuck you!” You roar, venomous and mostly hurt.

Jungkook knows you’re feeling more like the latter.

He knows that, and yet, he decides to press more.

“What did you fucking expect, babe? That I was gonna smile and laugh and carry and spin you around this fucking– this fucking tiny apartment?” Jungkook gestures around wildly, and he hates that when he looks at your face it's now contorted into tormented pain. Your shoulders shake as you sob silently. But his head is on a haywire and he feels like he can’t think straight. You. A baby. You two. A family. He runs a hand along his face. “We’re barely making ends meet. You wait tables while I only rely on commissions from my apprenticeship at the shop and earn shit at that convenience store five blocks away. We can barely afford the fucking AC and – and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? What the fuck do we do with a fucking child, __?”

“I don’t know!” You say exasperatedly, abruptly standing up from the couch. You sniff as you rub away at your eyes – red from all the crying you must have done and been doing.

“So why the hell would you get mad at me for reacting this way?” Jungkook answers, because frankly, he doesn’t understand. And then he says the next words he thinks of, “Are you keeping it?”

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth.

You usually look at him with so much adoration in your eyes – so genuine and loving that Jungkook gets confused sometimes – but now you look at him with nothing but pure distaste. Hatred. And even he was taken aback.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck the answer to that horrible question is. But whatever the hell I do, you decide if you want to be part of it or not – and with the way you’re acting right now, I’m assuming you want out,” you say, voice firm and full. Gone was the fragility, all Jungkook could see was a stone-cold person in front of him who didn’t give a fuck about whether or not he stays in her life. And your next words further prove that. “But there’s something I want you to know and make sure you remember this: if you walk away from me, right now, I don’t want you coming back. Ever. And I mean that. I mean that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stands glued there in the middle of the living space, heart squeezed to fuck and his lungs tightening as he processes your words.

He follows your figure as you disappear in your bedroom, feeling like the room is suddenly spinning when you leave.

Jungkook lets himself fall on the sofa and for the first time in what felt like years, he cries.

#jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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bouquetface · 2 months ago

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Atmakaraka Through houses

Sign, Aspects, and Planets will influence accuracy.

This post will discuss past lives and soul's purpose + karmas. Personally, I find the idea of past lives entertaining but I'm not sure it resonates. If you're the same, this post can still be read as entertainment.

This is not my own theory. It's a very old theory that considers AK to show your past life karma & current life purpose to clear that karma.

AK in First H

Your soul is here for itself. Generally, this is the best AK placement. It shows you have always given yourself to others in past lives. In this life, it's okay to look out for yourself first.

Now let's say Saturn is the AK you might feel burdened with all the work you have to do for yourself. It might feel lonely but your soul came here wanting that independence.

Where you can go wrong with this placement is choosing others over yourself again. EX: AK in First H, 7th H stellium - Certain events and people will come to you indirectly asking your soul to choose them/take care of them over yourself. You could feel a strong pull to do so but AK in First H shows that would be a mistake. In the next life, you'll simply have to repeat the cycle.

AK in 2nd H

Your soul is here to clear past life karma through money, resources and family. In a past life, this shows you received a lot of support and possibly money through others. Now, you have to learn the lessons, mature and build your own wealth. In some cases, you may feel inclined to help other people financially. You'll likely make money mistakes. You'll have family troubles - big or small. It'll be your duty to work on these areas of life.

Where you can go wrong with this placement is relying too much on other's resources again. It is believed this will simply increase the debt you owe making the next life even more difficult as now you have more to repay.

AK often isn't meant to be something enjoyable. It can feel like a burden but it is your soul's duty to complete this task.

You may even find in this life when you are becoming too dependent on others for resources, you experience life or health struggles. This doesn't mean you must make every single penny on your own or suffer. It simply shows active efforts to attain financial independence are needed to clear the karma. And in certain cases, helping provide resources for others like family members is needed to clear the karma.

AK in 3rd H

Your soul is here to clear karma though service for siblings, neighbours/community and possible the father-in-law. Your will be relied on and you will have to do a lot of short distance travel throughout your entire life.

A IRL example: This person has SUN AK in 3rd H - This person is fulfilling their AK duty daily - they take the siblings to school (short distance travel) even tho it’s a walkable distance. In fact, when this person went to that same middle school, they were made to walk. Yet, the siblings demand to be driven this short distance. They don't even know abt astrology - simply the siblings are kinda spoiled & apparently refuse to go to school otherwise. AK's tests naturally appear like this in one's life.

And I've noticed people often ask this person for rides - ex: one summer they had to pick up and drop off their cousin at work regularly (Mon-Fri). They got up at 6AM to do this as a teen during their summer break. And they get no recognition for it. Their family doesn't see or appreciate how helpful they were even as a teenager.

AK often isn't something enjoyable. It feels like a burden but it is your soul's duty. Since AK is present throughout out entire lives, it is likely when the person is older something like the above examples will reoccur with their neighbours or father-in-law.

This placement should be cautious about cutting contact with siblings - especially younger siblings. The cycle is believed to repeat in the next life if you can't clear the karma off in this life.

It is believed in a past life you likely had a high position. You demanded these type of seemingly small tasks from those beneath you.

AK in 4th H

Your soul will have to serve the family, home and/or mother. In a past life you likely neglected the home and family. Now the family you come from and/or the family you create will provide opportunities for you to deal with your past life karma.

It won't always feel enjoyable having to take care of your family and home. However, it needs to be completed so the cycle doesn't repeat in the next life.

For instance: Moon AK in 4th House - You regardless of gender take on many domestic tasks in the home. This can be early in life or after marriage. You - more often than anyone else in the household - end up doing the chores - laundry, yardwork, cooking, etc. It could deeply frustrate you.

You could have issues with your own mother too. The sign and aspects and exact planet can offer insight on how bad the situation.

You should be cautious of cutting contact with your mother. It’s believed the karmic cycle will repeat in the next life. I'm not telling you what to do, personally I don't fully believe in past lives. If you have cut contact or have a very abusive family, you should do what is healthy for yourself.

AK in 5th H

Your soul needs to burn off karma through education and children. This doesn't mean your kids are going to hate you or be terrible. Simply shows you will have to pay extra attention and care to your kids. An example would be the child has trouble learning to read. You have to be the parent that is responsible for assuring the child is supported through this period.

Often AK is something that feels like a duty - not something enjoyable. There might be something in your life that causes you to continue having to educate yourself. This doesn't have to be formally.

AK in 6th H

This shows you're clearing your karma through service. You may find people and even animals always need help around you. Coworkers, friends, family will come to you for help - literal help or advice.

It'll sometimes feel like a burden. However with this placement it shows in a past life you were unable to or simply did not help those in need. It weighed on your soul, thus in this life you are correcting that.

AK in 7th H

This shows you're clearing your karma through relationships. This doesn't have to be in marriage, it can be in dating or any other type of relationship - even business or friendship. Your ego will be hurt when having to deal with people outside yourself. You will face humiliation in relationships or in public.

This placement shows in a past life you were the selfish one. You didn't complete your duty to a partnership - this can be in marriage or business or a different kind of relationship. Maybe you cheated, maybe you left someone sick, maybe you scammed your clients. It can be so many different scenarios. Generally, this is considered the worst AK placement as the best one is 1st House. You may have been very cruel and selfish in a past life.

This doesn't mean you have to keep bad people in your life. You are going to have to encounter them. You will feel hurt & humiliated, you'll move on. The worst thing this placement can do is once again only care about themselves again. The cycle is believed to repeat in the next life but it will be much more difficult the next time.

AK in 8th H

You have a duty to your spouse's family. You have either good or bad karma with them. At some point, they'll need your help and your resources. Example: The spouse's parent's needed him to give them money for retirement - not borrow - simply give, no repayment.

If the karma is really bad, it is believed the spouse's family will hate you upon first impression. Often AK is something that feels like a duty - not something enjoyable.

AK in 9th H

You have a duty to help your parent's/teacher's in your life. Example: You feel you owe it to your parent's to become a Surgeon.

You might need to experience something abroad or in university to clear your karma. Often AK's duty is something that feels like a burden.

The worst thing for this placement is to do something immoral or illegal. Some people can get away with doing illegal things in this life. Your life will find a way to punish you.

AK in 10th H

Your soul has to work to clear off their karma. You can find your are constantly working long hours, difficult tasks and encountering scatterbrained authority figures. In some cases, this shows difficulty in finding career success. You have to work 10x harder than others for the same praise.

In a past life, maybe you scammed people or something else that is illegal in the workplace. It can be many different scenarios.

AK in 11th H

Your soul clears off karma through eldest siblings, society or activism. You can become politically involved with this placement. You come face to face with the struggles of the masses. You can't hide from the world's issues.

Or it can be you have a duty to your eldest sibling. You may find your eldest siblings always needs your help. Throughout your entire life, chances to help the elder sibling will appear. It is believed to be a test of your soul. Will you help them and clear your karma or not? Choice is completely yours.

Keep in mind AK is often a duty that feels like a burden. It is unlikely to be something enjoyable.

AK in 12th H

Your soul desires isolation. You clear karmas through quiet. You might need to go away from the birth place. You need to find peace through yourself.

When you get carried away socializing/partying, your life will bring difficult scenarios to remind you that is not why your soul wanted to come back.

AK is often a duty that feels like a burden. It is unlikely to be something enjoyable.

This is only one placement and doesn't consider the planet that is AK, the sign + aspects. And positioning of Ketu. This is a very general post.

#vedic astro observations #astrology #astrology observations #sun am #sun atmakaraka #moon atmakaraka #Atmakaraka #darakaraka

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azrielbrainrot · 1 year ago

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Mind Over Matter

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Description: Eris sees you at your lowest and you get a glimpse behind the mask.

Warnings: Angst, Domestic Violence, Injury

Word Count: 3550

Notes: In case it's confusing this is set before Fire on Fire. Hope you enjoy!

Fire on Fire Masterlist

The forest looked beautiful today. The red and orange leaves cast shadows over the whole clearing, and from the tree branch you were sitting at, you could see the birds flying and even some bunnies hopping around the bushes. It had been raining all week but it finally let up this morning, the sun was now shining high in the sky making it a perfect day to sit and read outside.

Even if the season never changes, you can tell apart the “beginning” and “end” of autumn. The leaves are just starting to fall, meaning this would be the beginning of the season. In a few months when the leaves are mostly on the ground, it will be the “end” and then the cycle will repeat itself. You always preferred this time when the sun is still shining and the forest is alive.

It might be summertime in the solar courts from your calculations, not that you've ever stepped foot out of this one, or even out of the city. As much as you love the forests tinged in orange, you can't help but wonder what it would be like if they gave way to different sights every few months.

Perhaps it would make autumn more enjoyable if it wasn't constantly upon you. You think you wouldn't hate the spring or summer, when the sun is warmer and there isn't as much rain, when different flowers bloom making the forests turn into different shades of green and brown and so many other colors.

You haven't been this deep into the woods in a long time, your mother and father had both finally left the house for long enough at the same time after what felt like forever. With the rain, your mother hadn't been invited to any tea parties and your father always seemed to be working in his office nowadays, never even leaving to attend any meetings. Seems the High Lord had given him some important job.

You'd feel bad for whoever had the misfortune of their company today but these are the few moments of peace you can steal for yourself, and you've been praying to The Mother that something came up so your father was called to the Forest House or even further. If it was something scandalous enough it would take your mother to her friend's houses to discuss it among themselves too.

You get so lost in your thoughts and the book you're reading, in the calmness and silence the forest brings you that it's only when you look up at the sky and see it starting to turn the same orange tone as the trees that you realize the sun is almost setting, you were late. You weren't sure how long your parents would be gone for, hopefully they weren't coming before dinner or they would already be looking for you.

Gathering your skirt, you hop down from the thick branch you've been sitting on, shoving your book into the old bag you once stole from one of the many closets in your house. It took you a few tries, and reading a couple of books, but you had managed to charm it to hold a lot more than its size would lead you to believe. You've been using it to keep books, dried flowers you've turned into bookmarks, random trinkets you've found over the years and even a couple of pants. Anything your parents wouldn't approve of you having really, things you actually called your own. Picking it up, you winnow to its hiding place - an old hollowed tree close to the edge of the woods behind your house - and quickly cover it so no one comes across it.

The maids knew you weren't inside, thinking you were in the gazebo watching the flowers, or feeling sorry for yourself, whatever they told themselves you did all day, so winnowing straight to your room wasn't an option. There was also the risk of any of them lingering around and seeing you. The garden had to do then, the servants had probably all left the grounds by then, retiring to their own homes.

You winnow deep into the garden so you're surrounded by bushes, close to the crimson roses that overlooked the side entrance to the estate. You weren't usually allowed on this side of the garden, it was too close to the servants' gate, meaning any of the “lowly” males could see you and you wouldn't know how to defend yourself from their advances. Sometimes you think your father is convinced you need instructions for breathing too.

Waving a hand over yourself to clean off any obvious dirt for the moment, you almost sprint closer to the gazebo, the place the maids would come looking for you when it was time to get ready for dinner.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you turn the corner to find your father walking the grounds. His face turns into stone as soon as he lays eyes on you, making you drop your skirt immediately, smoothing it with your hands out of habit, always trying to appear as polished as you can in front of him.

By his side stood your fiancé, looking as elegant as ever in a black three piece suit, topped off with a muted red tie to match the soles of his shoes. You've never seen his hair this long, it was combed back and tied in a small knot. Your gaze moves back to your father's disappointed face when his eyes meet yours, always so intense and calculating, suffocating even.

It had been years since you'd last been caught outside by your father and, to make matters worse, Eris was here too. At least he only saw you in the garden, even if further in than you're normally allowed. You don't even want to think what would happen if he'd seen you winnow from the woods.

“What are you doing outside at nightfall?” Your father was clearly displeased with you, not only for going against his wishes but also for doing it in front of such an important person.

“I simply got distracted looking at the flowers,” you try to sound as demure as possible, thinking maybe you could fix this by playing dumb since your father probably didn't want to make a scene in front of Eris, “They're blooming so beautifully.”

“You must have been really distracted,” he says as he turns his head menacingly, “since you know you're not allowed to wander around unattended.”

His tone almost makes you flinch, your face dropping. It had been foolish of you to think you could talk yourself out of the situation. Eris' presence wouldn't make your father less volatile, it only made things worse. He wanted to show the other male he was capable of handling his family, not wanting to appear weak in front of the heir.

You hadn't stopped to think that this could also make you less viable for marriage. His daughter being personally chosen by the High Lord as his eldest son's fiancé was your father's greatest accomplishment, and he knew better than you that Beron's mind was easily changed, he wouldn't want Eris to think you might not be the best option after all.

In this moment you ponder tarnishing your reputation as much as you could to get out of this marriage. If only it wouldn't cost you your life with it. Your father always hated the fact that you were born female. A male would bring the family name glory but a female could only hope to wed into a noble family. If you were to lose the High Lord's favor your father would likely lock you away from the world or even dispose of you altogether.

Your father lets out what you think he means as a disapproving sigh, but you can hear the excitement behind it, can see it on his face. He's grown to enjoy the moments when he can put you or your mother in your place, it makes him feel important. He approaches you, moving away from a slightly confused looking Eris.

You knew what was coming as soon as you saw your father pull his hand back, you've been here before many times after all. You close your eyes, feeling the heat approach your face, trying not to let your instincts take over and try to avoid it, that only makes it worse. The force of the slap makes your head turn to the side, your body almost following, but the worst part is the flames, you have to bite your lip not to let out any sound as you feel the burn eating at your skin. You faintly smell burning and try not to think about it, knowing it's the smell of your own flesh.

He holds your chin with a still too warm hand, even if already rid of the flames, and looks into your eyes closely, wanting to revel in your pain. “I've taught you better than this.” He adds another light slap to your face for good measure before letting you go completely. It almost hurts more than the first one, the skin was so tender even just moving your face hurt.

Taking a weak breath in, you try to calm your mind, ignore the pain and rage warring inside you. Clutching tightly onto your dress to keep your hands occupied, in case your mind slips and you burn his face in rage the same way he keeps doing to yours. You feel the flames wanting to rise up to your skin but firmly snuff them out, making sure they stay safely hidden deep inside you until it's the right time.

The pain has gotten easier to bear over the years, now you close your eyes not from fear but to calm yourself. You don't have the strength to go against him yet or a plan for a safe escape, you refuse to lose your life so easily after enduring this for so long. One day you will make him pay for everything he has put you through but first you need a plan and you need to be stronger.

This time it was different though, Eris was watching, you could feel his gaze burning into your skin deeper than your father's fiery palm ever could. There had been witnesses to his cruelty before, even outside your family and servants, you had seen pity, satisfaction and even trained blankness in their faces, had learned to ignore them and not ask for help under any circumstance - it took you too long to realize that the ones showing pity know your pain or are as powerless as you.

But, for some reason, knowing Eris, your future husband, the heir to the throne, is watching makes you want to cry for the first time since you were a child. You bite your lip and clench your fists as hard as you can, opening your eyes only enough to look to the ground, hoping your face isn't giving away too much or the burn was at least enough to hide it.

Suddenly interested in studying the cobbled stones you've walked on for decades, you notice your earring fell off, the ruby glinting in one of the little nooks in between stones, suffocated with no place to escape to just like you felt. You briefly wondered if it had simply gotten loose with the force or if it was ripped off your earlobe, but the pain on the side of your face was too intense to be able to pinpoint a specific area. A ripped earlobe was the least of your concerns anyway.

“What do you think you're doing?” All your thoughts evaporate when you hear his voice. He sounds uncharacteristically angry, you've never seen him lose the teasing lilt to his words or crafted nonchalant tone. You can't help but look up at him with wide eyes, not even remembering the shame you had felt before.

“Not to worry. Her face will be healed by tomorrow morning,” your father barely hesitates, assuming the anger wasn't directed at him hitting you, “I wouldn't give you damaged goods, my lord.”

Sometimes you wonder how your father had lived for so long, how he managed to become important enough that he not only worked for Beron but the High Lord would also want his heir to marry you, when he could be this dense. It was clear Eris wasn't worried about your face, his anger was almost palpable.

You know he wears a mask like no one else, you've seen it in action, but, if your father hadn't been so self-absorbed, if it was Beron standing in front of him, this would end very differently. Because the mask had fallen at the same time your stupid earring did. What was staring at you was Eris' true face. Your father was too thick to notice but you could gamble your life on it.

It showed his unrestrained fury and power rumbling just beneath his skin, you're not sure how your father didn't notice the way the temperature rose around them, the air suddenly resembling the summer you had just been longing for. His gaze burned hotter than lava and the planes of his face carved out the perfect personification of fury. His face was the perfect picture of the new High Lord of the Autumn Court. It was all fire, beautifully and all consuming.

He was making a bigger effort of not hurting your father than you were. When your eyes met you could almost see him forcefully pushing his feelings away, stuffing himself down with them, burying them deep inside him to keep the plot he's been writing for centuries intact. Still, his gaze lingered on your marred cheek too long, you think you even see his fingers spasm, as if wanting to reach out, if it was to console you or to snap your father's neck you couldn't be sure but the sentiment behind it was the same.

You almost gasp as the realization comes to you. The look on his face isn't all anger but what's underlining it isn't pity, it's the face of someone who understands. He's been in your same place. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, Beron's cruelty will far outlive his name, but it's hard to imagine Eris, inarguably the second most powerful fae in this court, in your place.

Your stomach twists at the implications. If even he can't fight Beron, what hope do you have of escaping your father? Especially now that he's aligned himself with the High Lord? It's in this moment that you know Eris' warnings were correct, there's no use running, you wouldn't make it but a couple steps.

“She needs a healer to fix her face,” you can almost see him choosing his words, playing into your father's narrative enough while trying to help you as much as he can. You're starting to think you have Eris figured out. Is this how he has survived this long? “See that it gets done quickly.”

He leaves without another word, turning away from you father and letting his eyes linger on your burnt flesh one more time before winnowing out of your estate. You don't look away from where he'd just been even when your father grabs your arm and pulls you along on his way inside the house, cursing you with every step. You wouldn't be able to leave your room and escape into the forest for a while.

Later that night, when you're returning to your room, after a healer treated your wounds as usual, and made sure Eris' goods wouldn't be permanently damaged as your father had so lovingly put it, you find a vaguely familiar, faint scent lingering in the air, it makes your heart stop.

Thankfully, the maids didn't accompany you to your room, they didn't like treating you cruelly but helping you could get them in trouble with your father so they'd rather just watch in silence, or, even better, turn their face whenever it was possible.

If they had followed you, they would have noticed the scent, would run and tell your father. You're not sure if they'd recognize it as his, he doesn't visit your house often after all, but the spicy scent was unmistakably male. It's better not to think of the amount of trouble you would be in if they smelled it.

You walk to the window first, opening it as wide as you can so the chilly night air fills the room instead, making sure there would be no residuals in the morning when they came to wake you. Looking up at the full moon in the cloudy sky, feeling the wind turn to ice against the side of your face still covered in a thick cooling salve and wrapped in bandages, you hesitate one more time before moving to the foreign items sitting at your vanity table, undoubtedly left behind by your dear fiancé.

Eris left you a tiny bottle with some strange bluish liquid inside accompanied by a small red velvet box tied off with a golden ribbon. You know he won't poison you, the bargain won't allow it, but you weren't sure what else he could do if he let his imagination run wild. You decide reading the note set on top of the box might give you an idea.

He has no right to treat you like this. I'm sorry I can't do more to help you for now but I promise there will come a day when he won't be able to hurt you anymore.

The note wasn't signed but you knew it was his. Even after your agreement, you didn't think he would try to make you feel better, even going as far as risking getting caught while dropping this off, since this fragile alliance of yours had been neither of your first choices.

You pick up the bottle and uncork it, immediately recognizing the calming scent of a sleeping draught. It would help with your nightmares. This is a generous amount too, it can last you a while. You set it back down and untie the ribbon, opening the box to find some chocolate and sugar cookies.

A sleeping draught and cookies. Never in your life had you received anything like this. You can't even admit it to yourself but this is by far the most thoughtful gift you've ever gotten from anyone.

He had to have an idea of how awful your father was to you, you told him as much when you made the bargain, but he might not have realized he went as far as physically hurting you. Eris knows the pain of an abusive father, of being haunted by their cruelty even in your dreams. So, he gave you the draught to help you even a little and the cookies to console you, something sweet to fend off the pain.

Just when you were starting to feel thankful for Eris, thinking you might have been too harsh on him before, you notice something else written on the other side of the note. Turning it around and reading it as well.

I wasn't aware you could winnow so well. Just how much are you hiding from your family, doll?

Your entire body tenses at the words, turning the paper into flames lest anyone reads it. He knows. You've managed to hide this ability from everyone for decades, but now Eris, of all people, knows. You're not sure how he noticed when your father didn't. He could have arrived before him, could have wandered around the grounds without anyone knowing. Is it possible that he knew where you went? No, he couldn't have come from the forest in time to talk to your father and see you.

You hold your hand up to rub over your chest, simultaneously trying to calm your racing heart and feeling the mark of the bargain woven into your soul, trying to reassure yourself. He's your ally. He won't tell anyone, the bargain won't allow it. But what could he do with this information? You had the upper hand when you made the bargain but it feels like he just stepped ahead.

After a few moments of breathing in the cold air still seeping into the room and settling your mind, you sit down on the chair by the vanity unceremoniously, letting your head drop into your hands for a moment. A heavy sigh escapes you as you open the cookie box again. What kind of person sends you gifts and includes a mildly threatening message with them. Must he always push your buttons like this?

You take a bite out of a chocolate cookie and let the delicious taste melt in your mouth, eyeing the small bottle. It seems you'll need to use it tonight, you definitely need a good dreamless sleep after the rollercoaster of emotions you've been through the whole day.

What you fail to notice is that, between the chocolate and sugar cookies you keep munching on and the annoyance now targeted towards Eris, your face barely even hurts anymore and you weren't left thinking of the deep rooted ache in your soul after your father hurt you yet another time.

#eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris x you #eris vanserra x you #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x y/n #eris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x you #eris fic #eris vanserra fic #fire on fire universe #divider by saradika #my writing

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sugar-grigri · 1 year ago

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Nayuta ? Or Makima ? Neither : Nayuta Hayakawa

What I already find fantastic It's that EVERYTHING, absolutely everything in this chapter has to be interpreted in reverse. If you want to know what it's about, you have to interpret it normally. To find out the answer, in reverse.

How did I come to this conclusion? The first part gives you the key :

An unknown lady comes to Nayuta's defense: she's only a child, don't attack her! Open your eyes! Come back to your senses for a second!

And even though Barem is there to trap her, paradoxically, humanity regains its senses, not by seeing Nayuta as just a child, but precisely by removing her status: she is indeed a threat to them.

You've already interpreted it right side up, so let's continue interpreting it upside down

The fact that she pities Denji and wants his heart doesn't mean that Nayuta is Makima, or that she's becoming Makima again.

Makima has never felt pity - she's never even seen Denji at all - so having pity is already a step in the right direction.

The former control demon was so powerful but also so distant that she couldn't even distinguish between human and CSM odors.

As for the fact that she wants his heart, Nayuta feels it before searching Denji's memory. This doesn't mean that the control demon instinctively wants to capture CSM. When Nayuta wants his heart, it's because she wants to be loved, and it's such a strange sensation that she feels lost.

What's more, when she repeats the plan of her former self, in reality, the equation is not at all the same. Even with the same plan, Makima and Nayuta don't follow the same trajectory. Let me explain: making Denji happy and then drastically taking everything away from him is the basis, but the control demon's position is different.

Makima wasn't enjoying this happiness, she was completely excluded from it. Whereas Nayuta is completely enmeshed in Denji's happiness, to the point of being genuinely happy about it too. This happiness was brutally taken away, and that's what happened, but it wasn't the control demon's fault this time.

What's more, Makima wanted a family even though she had no idea what it was, whereas Nayuta has a family but no idea what she is. That's a different question!

Once again, this chapter should be read through a staggering mirror.

The fact that she sees Denji as empty again shows that Nayuta sees Denji more as a shell than Makima, who was obsessed by the heart, by Pochita.

Moreover, the chapter betrays this way of presenting Nayuta, she's not cold like Makima, she can have fun like a child and does so sincerely, it's not a facade, simply a questioning of her own person.

I know that everything I'm saying may sound strange, especially when, if you pay attention to the staging, Denji and Nayuta are constantly going round in circles, faster and faster.

So this chapter gives the impression that everything is the confirmation of a cycle that's closing: Denji realizes once again that he has no family, while Nayuta reconnects with her old self

But for me, that's a hasty interpretation: don't read this chapter, just enjoy the last drop of it, so let's get on with it!

When Denji tells Nayuta that he's her family, it's not her who tells him that he should be ashamed of uttering such nonsense, it's Denji himself.

Denji finds it ridiculous to talk about family without understanding its meaning, after all, how can a child who has experienced the worst crime of all, parricide, understand what it means to be a family?

It's precisely by wanting to become Chainsaw Man that he understands.

His father, his blood relative, was not a parent, he mistreated his child: a parent doesn't behave like that.

Pochita is Denji's family, and he has a blood link with him; he's even the one who irrigates his veins: he's his heart.

What is Chainsaw Man? Nothing more than an empty shell, a bit of an answer to everything, on whom we pin all our hopes.

Makima did the same thing: this unattainable thing, this hero of the underworld, I'm unhappy because I can't reach him, so mathematically, if I could reach him, I could aspire to happiness.

Nayuta has achieved it, but she still seems to be going through existential crises: this makes sense, because once again, Chainsaw Man is an empty shell.

Denji lost his family, his pets died, so automatically, the response was to aspire to something else, to turn the page immediately by closing my eyes and becoming Chainsaw Man because !!!! Because Denji wanted to become this empty shell

Once again, logically, he became one, because by losing his family, the happiness that filled him, he became an empty shell.

But an empty shell is not to be understood in a purely pejorative sense, for a shell can contain anything: humanity's need for reassurance, the great enemy for demons to slay, the means to fight death, happiness, family... and so on.

When Pochita asks Denji what he plans to do after he achieves his first dream, Denji replies: to be Chainsaw Man.

To be an empty shell, yes, but empty in order to be filled by others, just as someone who is alone would tie up with others, just as the control devil would want CSM so she won't be alone, just as a wounded dog would agree to ally itself with a child who doesn't want to die either…

Having your family destroyed, but still managing to move on while building a new one, being surrounded by so many people that you forget your own pain, surviving better together in a terrible environment - that's the Hayakawa family.

As we've seen, Nayuta talks about a happiness that will then be destroyed. It's a good tactic to follow this plan, because that's what Makima did with the Hayakawa family, but as we've seen, Nayuta is part of this happiness that's doomed to be destroyed, so she's part of this family that constantly dies, burns and then rises from the ashes.

Nayuta doesn't know who she is, but what we do know is that she has a definite attachment to Denji, and above all, she's trying to understand who she really is through this boy she wants to shower with happiness. The fact that both of them are empty shells who are influenced by the other, Nayuta adopts Denji's ways, Denji puts Nayuta above everything else. This action of surviving together, this intertwined suffering and happiness, is precisely what Chainsaw Man is all about.

When Denji loses his family again, his dogs and his cat, he pushes Nayuta away. Denji realises that being him, being Chainsaw Man, will always be accompanied by pain, so he tries to cut the ties with the last person close to him. He does this without even understanding what it means to be a family.

Yet chapter 155 explicitly answers it. The beginning of the chapter opens with Nayuta about to be attacked and ends with Denji lying there, cared for and safe. Denji may never be able to describe what a family is, but it is something that can be felt, the shared suffering and happiness of living together, and it is something that can be seen : being protected.

Denji's cycle is not to kill his parents, it's the cycle of neglect, of lack of protection. Denji's father failed to protect him, leaving him in the hands of the mafia. And what Denji does is fail to understand what it means to belong to a family, to protect others, because he has abandoned his little sister to her fate.

Nayuta also had her answer, she wanted to repeat what her former self had done, what was accomplished by one of her former followers, Barem : lose the happiness you've built up.

And indeed, she understood what she was: someone who belongs to a family, even when that family goes completely off the rails, and her first instinct was to protect Denji and get him to safety. Denji opened the door for Nayuta, who looked at him as an empty shell, and who then saw so much of herself in him that she protected him at the risk of jeopardising her own safety.

This doomed happiness, belonging to a family, sacrificing oneself - that's the Hayakawa. And when she realises that she too has become part of this doomed family, Nayuta paradoxically knows better who she is : Nayuta Hayakawa.

By inundating this empty boy with happiness, she also becomes part of a vicious, ever-accelerating cycle. Her dogs and cat have already paid the price.

Makima and Nayuta are right: happiness under threat is what awakens Chainsaw Man. After all, it was in front of a burnt down house that a new contract was signed with Pochita. And when this new dream came about, it was when a bird was crushed. The bird represents the cycles: Bucky who opens part 2, Asa the new protagonist who lives again thanks to Yoru in the form of an owl. Crushing it represents its end. Being Chainsaw Man means avoiding becoming that empty shell again by preserving the fragile happiness inside.

As Aki learns that he, like Power, will be killed by Chainsaw Man, the cycle of his family's condemnation, Denji is also finally revealed, confronted with his own destiny.

How can we put an end to the cycle of neglect? The broken and unhappy destinies ? How can we turn Chainsaw Man into an instrument of struggle ?

Will Denji remain the product of this cycle of neglect, watching his loved ones die in his arms, condemned like his brother to try to protect them when it's already too late?

Will Denji realise that when he crushed the raven, Nayuta was on his back, and that she needs to be in his arms, protected, to end the cycle? Will Denji finally wake up and try to be a bit less of an idiot?

And realise that to be Chainsaw Man, he needs a foundation: his family.

As his memories of Nayuta flashed past, Denji realised that he had put an end to the cycle, that he had touched with his fingertips a form of happiness despite the loss of his previous siblings. As he realised this fragile happiness, Pochita asked him what he wanted next: to be Chainsaw Man. Not the man who kills his loved ones, not the man you die for. The one who will protect this fragile happiness like a tower of cards.

#chainsaw man #csm #csm part 2 #csm spoilers #csm 155 #chainsaw man 155 #denji hayakawa #nayuta hayakawa #aki hayakawa #makima #my thoughts

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d0youc0py · 1 year ago

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So, I have a request for angst, but with Young Reader, and they actually do call them an ask for help or a place to stay for a bit because of a nasty fight they got into with their parents and just need to leave the situation, perhaps they could have hid an injury(Welt, slap mark, bruising) from the boys only for boys to see it when they take off their coat/jacket. Its cool if you dont feel comfortable with this ask, you dont have to do it.

“Hey, John.” You started into the phone.

“You alright, Honey?” He questioned. You nearly rolled your eyes. The man had known you since you were as tall as his knee and could always tell when something was wrong.

“Not really.” You lied. You scrunched your face and took a deep breath. “Actually yeah- my mom came home in one of her moods again, but”-

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

You could hear his car keys jingle on the other line and the familiar sound of his truck door slamming shut.

“I’m at the park down the street.”

“Hold tight, honey. I’ll be right there.”

It was about a fifteen minute wait. John lived all the way out in the country, another thing you loved about him. His truck pulled up and he quickly hopped out to open the door for you.

“Thanks John.” You sighed, giving him a quick hug.

“Course, honey. Now how about we go get some dinner, hmm?” He patted your back. It was gentle but enough to make you wince.

He took you to your favorite restaurant, the same one your father use to take you to. He sat across from you, not needing to look over the menu. His soft blue eyes trained on you.

“You ready to talk about it?” John asked. Your eyes peered up from behind the menu. You don’t know why you were even looking at it in the first place. You always ordered the same thing.

“Same old thing.” You responded, sifting in your seat.

“Don’t give me that, honey.” He pressed. “You’ve never called me before. I always hear about a fight after I’ve shaken you down.” He offered you a small smile. It’s wasn’t one of pity, but understanding. He’s always been there for you, so why won’t you just tell him the truth?

“Don’t get mad.” You whispered. John instantly faltered. It was a common cycle. When he was on leave he’d take you out at least two times a week. You’d tell him about some shitty thing your mom said to you and he’d race over to your house and threaten her to knock it off. She’d be on her best behavior for about a week, then the cycle would repeat itself. “Look you’re already upset.” You gave a fake chuckle.

“Honey.” He huffed. His eyes bore into yours with such intensity it made your tiny hairs stand up.

“It started off just like our fights always do. She started yelling and I just made my way to my room to bunker down for the night.” You stopped to take a small sip of your water.

“You locked the door?” John hummed. He had built you a special lock to go on your door.

“I didn’t make it that far.” You murmured, tears forming in your eyes. John’s hand reached across the table attaching to yours, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “She threw something at me.” You whispered.

“Threw something at you.” He repeated.

“I know it so stupid.” Your hands left his to paw at your eyes. You hated crying. His hands remained on the table giving you the option to return to him.

“She hurt you honey? That’s the furthest thing from stupid.”

“It was one of those ceramic cats she collects. It hit me in the back.” You gasped. You wouldn’t doubt if there was a large bruise forming as you spoke. “Do you mind if I stay with you for a little bit? Just till things cool down?”

“Honey, you could come live with me.” He assured. This wasn’t the first time he offered, but giving the increasing hostility your mother was showing this was the first time you really considered it.

“I don’t think I can just live with you, John. Isn’t that illegal- like kidnapping or something.” You sputtered.

“That’s not for you to worry about, honey. I’ll handle everything, just take some time and think about it.”

He woke up to the sound of glass shattering so loud it sounded like it was in his room. His body made quick work of throwing the covers off and heading towards his front door. He didn’t bother to shut his door behind him or throw on a pair of shoes. His body was already hot and shaking with anger. His fist pounded against your front door giving some warning of his presence before he used his shoulder to nearly split the door open.

He quickly found you on the floor your mother grabbing at your hair.

“Shit!” Your father yelled from the kitchen. Your father had been enjoying the whole spectacle of your mother tormenting you with a smile and a beer in his hand. Your mother look up at Simon, her own eyes growing wide with fear. He grabbed her by the arm throwing her backwards off of you.

“Who the fuck do you thi”- Your father started.

“Shut up and sit down.” Simon growled. Your father quickly obeyed siting down at the counter, your mother scurrying backwards to join him.

“Come on kid, on your feet.” He was soft with you, refusing to add anymore trauma to the situation. He wrapped an arm around your middle to steady you and you hid your face in shame.

“You can’t just take them. I’ll have the police dow”- Your father spoke up again.

“I told you to shut it. And what? You gonna call the police on me tough guy? Do it.” Simon spat. Your father piped down again the realization of his threat setting in. Simon led you out of your apartment and into his own. “Sit down, tell me where you’re hurt. Might need to take you to the hospital after that one, kid.”

The only way you could respond was through sobs. You practically threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his middle. He sighed softly, not in contempt but in mercy. He wrapped a bulky arm around you, using your head as a chin rest. He related to you in all the worst ways.

“I don’t wanna go back.” You sobbed against him.

“I know you’re scared.” He said softly. “You’re gonna stay with me for a while, yeah? You have a key anyways might as well.”

He groaned as his phone went off from somewhere in his bed. He patted around, his eyes burning as the made contact with the blinding light.

Your face lighting up his phone ripped the drowsiness from his body.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” His voice was gruff and he cleared his throat.

“Mac.” You cried from the other end.

“Fuckin hell.” He growled. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m sorry. They just started yelling at me and I got scared and now I don’t know what to do.” You sobbed.

“You did exactly what you were suppose to do. You called me. Now take a few breaths and tell me where you are. It’s late you shouldn’t be out by yourself.” He slipped his feet into his shoes and grabbed his keys from the entry table. He opened the door only to come face to face with you. His face scrunched as he took in your appearance. Your hair a mess, your face tear stained and you were shaking uncontrollably.

His heart dropped when he caught sight of a ruby colored mark on your cheek.

“That better not be what I think it is.” He gritted. You just cried harder. “Inside, now.” He snipped, making room for you brush past him.

“No, Mac please.” You sobbed. Your hands fled towards his arm and you leaned against him. You needed comfort. You needed assurance that everything was going to be okay.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. I can’t just let them get away with it Y/N.” He snarled. He gave you a kiss on the head. He began to pull his arm away but you just gripped him harder.

“Mac, please. I need you.” Your voice was soft. So weak and so vulnerable it made him stop dead in his tracks. “Please.” You whispered again. An apology flowed from his mouth and he quickly wrapped two strong arms around you, pulling you tight against him. You instantly relaxed.

“You’re right.” He murmured. “You’re safe now.”

“Ky, Can I stay with you please?”

You had asked him that a little over a week ago. He agreed immediately- perks of being one of his most favorite people on the planet. You didn’t really tell him why, just that you had gotten into a small ‘altercation’ with your parents.

That brings you to where you are today.

“If you don’t want me I can just leave Kyle.” You huffed, already collecting your things from the guest bedroom.

“Lovie, don’t do that!” He shouted after you. “My door is always open for you and you know that. I would just like to know exactly what happened. Considering you’re practically living with me now I think I have a right to know.” He explained. He grabbed the things out of your bag, hanging them up again.

“Kyle, stop! I’ve obviously overstayed my welcome. I’ll be out for your hair in no time.” You rubbed at your face harshly, trying to rid yourself of any tears.

“Y/N. Enough. Please stop.” His words were firm. It made you cry harder. “I didn’t mean to upset you so bad.” He assured. His hands came up and grabbed your wrists so he could get a better look at your face. He pulled you close to him. “I also need to know how upset I should be with your parents. If it’s really bad we need to get you out of there.” He explained. You sniffled, wiping at your face again.

It was then he saw it.

A deep purple bruise on your wrist. How didn’t you flinch when he grabbed it?

“That answers my question.” He sighed. You gasped and pulled your sleeves down. “Is that the only one?” He pressed. His fingers rested under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. He repeated his question.

You softly shook your head.

“I have one on my side too.” You sniffed.

“Y/N look at me please.”

You did as he requested.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you don’t have to go back, okay? But I need you to be completely honest about everything, yeah?”

A small sob left you and you quickly wrapped your arms around him.

“I love you, Ky.”

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fireboltposts · 3 months ago

Text

• You couldn't believe it, just couldn't. How did you get so lucky, you questioned yourself as you landed in Seoul after a long flight. You felt as though you were still in one of your dreams as you calmly stood outside the Incheon airport and took in the sights of the bustling city. This is happening, right ? Oh my God this is actually happening.

• You had jokingly entered a fan contest four months ago, where the winner would get to meet Stray Kids and shoot an episode with them, clearly believing that luck would never be on your side anyways, but what's the harm in trying. You had forgotten all about it as you returned to your daily life, going to work and coming back home and repeating the same old boring cycle.

• However life had other plans and one day you find yourself staring at an email notification from the JYP team. You opened up the email with your eyes wide in shock and surprise and you saw that you were the winner of the contest and they would soon send you more details about the show and everything else.

• You stare at the email, shocked, completely mind boggled. You couldn't believe such a good thing was happening to you of all people. You would meet Stray Kids and you couldn't process that information as your brain short circuited and was still buffering.

• Now as you were on set for the show, you were waiting in anticipation for the boys to come in. As the make up artist did your makeup, you couldn't help but have some self doubt creep in. What if they don't like me ? What if I mess this up ? What if I do something wrong ? What if they find me unattractive ? What if they find me annoying ? What if I don't look good on camera ? With so many what ifs running through your brain, you looked completely in discomfort. The makeup artist must have sensed your discomfort.

• She offered you a kind smile and said "Miss Y/N don't sweat this. I understand this is your first time in front of a camera but believe me I've known the boys for years and they're absolute sweethearts and are very friendly. You have nothing to worry about. Do follow the script from time to time but don't forget to add some of your charisma in the show. Just be yourself". You find yourself nodding to what she says but still couldn't help feeling a little nervous.

• When you finally met the boys, you were starstruck. The camera still wasn't rolling but you found it difficult to even speak a single word as they stood in front of you. You managed a meek "annyeonghaseyo Y/N imnida" ("hello my name is Y/N") and blinked in shyness. The eight boys smiled warmly at you and introduced themselves in a playful manner.

• It was Chan who brought you out of your stunned and awkward silence as he said "you look like you've seen a ghost, don't worry, we don't bite. Just take it easy", he teased, making you smile a little.

• The cameras weren't rolling yet, but you noticed the members showed genuine interest in getting to know you . They asked you where you were from and how you were finding Korea and some other small questions to bring you at ease. You answered them in your broken Korean mixed with English, making hand gestures as you struggled to find the right words sometimes with Felix and Chan being your saviours.

• The other members found it endearing how you were trying to speak in their language and they found your hand gestures struggling for words equally adorable. You were oblivious to the heart eyes you were already getting from them. They complimented your efforts to speak Korean and you were like "thank you that means so much coming from native speakers, i mean guys, there's a saying that if you speak to a man in his language then you speak to his heart" and they were like "ooooooh wahhhh you that was a good one, you're effortlessly wrapping us around your fingers" and you blushed softly.

• Finally after the crew did one last touch of make up to the boys and explained the concept, the camera started rolling.

• First came the whisper challenge game where the members would wear noise cancelling headphones with music playing while the member sitting in front of them would have to guess the word or phrase. (Sorry guys I don't watch much variety shows so I don't really know Korean group games, this is only one that came to mind 😅).

• First it was Han and your turn. For you the words would be in English so as to make it easier to guess and for the members it would be mixed.

• "I like sweet potato lattes", said Han, in a very animated way. "I like saying buona notte ?", you screamed back in confusion, what was this English and Italian mix. "Ani ani , I like sweet potato lattes", he tried saying in a more animated way. "I like sweeping lattes ?" You continued to make wild guesses, each one got weirder than the previous one and the members were in peals of laughter as they watched you struggle. You finally got it right after much hilarity and pulled off the headphones, laughing in defeat, and blushing furiously.

• The game continued with Felix and Minho, with Minho saying " i like sweets, they're the best" and Felix going wild with guesses like "penguins are the best ?" "our fan's tweets are next ?" "high rise wheats are there less ?" and you and the members were unable to control your laughter especially at Minho's deadpan expression to Felix's struggle. Soon the time was up and Felix sighed in frustration and defeat and whined "ahh this is difficult".

• One by one the members were paired up and some of them got the answers right while the other continued making wilder guesses. Finally it was your turn with Changbin.

• "You look beautiful today", he whispered, with a smile playing on his lips. You blinked in confusion and raised your eyebrows and guessed the phrases like "you booked fuel today ?", "you took bountiful day ?" "ew ew beetroot day ?" you looked at the others for hints only to be met with uncontrollable laughter.

• Finally the segment ended and y'all had to take a 15 minutes break. The members came up to you, and now feeling more confident to speak to them were like "guys what on earth was that, i mean i failed miserably", you laughed, remembering the game. The guys laughed along with you and you couldn't help but feel warm at their friendliness. The makeup artist was right.

• Next segment was the pepero game. You knew this game all too well as you had watched it multiple times in variety shows and your heart skipped a beat. No no no no no, you thought, I'll have a heart attack with them getting closer while biting the stick stuck in between you two's lips, as y'all try not to break it. Jesus Christ no no no this can't be happening.

• The pepero game brought a playful tension to the room, with each member secretly hoping for a turn with you. Hyunjin volunteered to go first.

• "Do you want to be my partner Y/N?", he asked you. You were stunned but you brushed it off and nodded and prepared yourself for the game. Hyunjin approached with a calm confidence, his eyes never leaving your face, that made your heart race. As you both nibbled down the stick, the whole room watched intently, but just as you were about to meet in the middle, he accidentally broke the stick, laughing with you and playfully shrugged it off and his gaze lingered on you for a second longer, before returning to stand beside Jeongin.

• After a few turns between the members it was soon your turn again. For a first timer playing this game, you found out you weren't too bad at this game, just that it was extremely distracting to have Stray Kids closer to your face. With Bang Chan, there was an undeniable tension as you both leaned in, closer and closer, your gazes locked while your heartbeat skyrocketed, the two of you broke into laughter only at the very end and he smiled at you, which flashed his cute dimples.

• "You're doing great Y/N", said Chan with a shy smile, clearly blushing and recovering from the playfully intense moment. You thanked him, while a blush formed on your cheeks. Good god I'm going to die like this, having them so close to my face, ahh my heart needs to calm down, you thought.

A/N : Will write a part 2 for this very soon, I felt like this was getting very long for one part. Do like and comment if you liked it :) You can find the rest of my masterlist here.

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creatively-cosmic · 22 days ago

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more stuff for our cr retake looooore. something about cycles and reincarnations... supposedly.

[Lore under da cut . also blueberry milk is @viscarrion 's guy i just did concept art ^^]

[ edit: a lot of this is already outdated u-u ]

disclaimer: this was copied straight from a ramble over discord i did while very tired so this is Not final and might sound like a message written at 6am on a hyperfixation high

the thought with the ancients story is . We're making it cyclical with it babyy. age old legacies passed down over ages of cookies made of the same recipes yet Tweaked, born again, over and over, changing and evolving, lights of virtue watching and Waiting for an incarnation worthy of being their avatars. the beasts were a catastrophe that could not repeated- no, the next wielders had to prove themselves.

early attempts resulted in disaster, cookies chasing purpose and power, yet falling into the same corruption as the Beasts and becoming mirror images of their madness. as time passed and recipes changed, eventually, one success would rise- proven by their good natures and a great act of leadership and power. (possibly by striking down another corrupted incarnation deemed the Leviathans- smth we're still workshopping, based offa thing mentioned in the pre-registration artbook)

the soul jams had changed by then, too- but these heroes were, all the same, worthy of them. a successful batch at long last.

for a while the world thrived under their rule- peace prevailed and kingdoms were born, built, and flourished.

yet good things never last.

white lily, on the night of witches, fell into the "ultimate dough" after discovering the true nature of the witches all cookies revered as Gods- how they saw them only as snacks, puny and fragile and delicious. as the woman drowned in dark magic, poisonous ingredients, and was burnt from every angle from a second baking, she emerged changed. angry. pained. hateful. and imbued with that great power, she found herself strong enough to make a stand against the witches.

one by one, they fell. and in pursuit of vengeance and the power to change everything, let's just say that she decided to turn the dynamic of Witch and Cookie on its head. with bloodied teeth and bones as trophies, the now Wilted Lily cookie, who would come to be known as the Dark Enchantress, set out to show the world what she'd discovered. and how she would change it.

of course, the Heroes wouldn't let this stand. the enchantress did not take pleasure in fighting her once-friends. did not revel in how she had become unrecognizable. white lily, however, had always chased goals that she believed was for the good of the world- this was no different, and no one would stand in her way. at any cost, she would prevail.

on a fateful night, the war between her and the Heroes came to a head. Two kings, two queens, and a sorceress entered that battlefield.

what came of it were five shattered soul jams, four orphaned kingdoms, and only one survivor; sealed away by forbidden magic in a final attempt by Pure Vanilla to save the world as he knew it, in his dying breath.

a few hundred years passed. the dust settled- the war, forgotten. but having lost their leaders so suddenly, so cruelly, and while they were so young, the kingdoms left behind were weak. cookies left, rulers took and left the throne far faster than anything reasonable. societies rose of their own merits, but the remnants of kingdoms clung dearly to what was left, their people spurred on by whispers of legends- of undying heroes, who would one day return and bring their small lands to power again.

when spurred by belief, anything you hold closely can be true in the eye of the beholder.

a cookie was baked with pure vanilla extract and decorated in the flowers of the vanilla plant it had been harvested from. a kindly and pacifist healer, a shepherd- the village under the sky kingdom's remains watched closely, and began muttering of his uncanny resemblance to the legend of the kingdom above.

sparks of hope would become a guiding firelight in the villages hearts- slowly, the name Vanilla Flower was drowned out by the prayers for the return at last of Pure Vanilla.

a young girl cookie, red and tart and bursting with life, wandered into the Hollyberry kingdom from Dragon's Valley. she boasted of victory over beasts great and small, bringing great supplies and hopes for prosperity to the beautiful little kingdom. her passion shone bright, her natural sense of leadership even moreso. the queen that their age-old songs would never forget must have returned!

again, the name of Red Holly was lost under the voices singing of the triumphant return of Hollyberry.

The Cacao kingdom stood strong- a council lead them steadily and held them well through the endless winters of their land. But as time passed and mindsets changed, the council would fracture- no single party trusted enough to watch and unify. Nobody, except... Him. A decision was made- it was time to take a kingdom-wide belief seriously. They watched, as each newly baked cookie would come through. Trying to discern if one could finally be the reincarnation of their king. Until finally, a boy of lonesome and bitter origins came to them, begging for a chance to fight for the good of the kingdom. They saw the look in his eyes, and knew he had come home.

Frigid Cacao, under the guide of the council, quietly let his name be lost under their uplifting words of how Dark Cacao had returned.

The golden cheese kingdom had long ago made a promise to their queen- in the event of her death, they were to prepare and ensure her reincarnation happened smoothly. They did not simply sit and wait. Over those hundreds of years, they carefully engineered each step of the recipe- carefully gathered every ingredient, carefully crafted her dough, and carefully, carefully, set her aside- shaped to perfect form- to incubate in her golden egg cradle, slow-baked by the warmth of safety and adoration. It took ages, but she emerged almost perfect. It had taken too long to care about the flaws- for now, this cookie was their queen.

Before Pyrite could even learn her name, she was taught the only one she'd ever be called by her people- Golden Cheese.

the next cycle began with these four, names and identities cast aside to fill the roles of monarchs and heroes the people of the land sought for. They made idols of men, and each kingdom raised them as such.

And even so, how could they doubt who they were when even the lights of virtue told them exactly the same...?

though the soul jams were still shattered, each of the four had been baked with a small piece within them- a piece that now connected them to the past life they once embodied. the lights whispered of destiny, of rebirth- showed them memories of lifetimes long since passed. the four upheld their virtues as best as they could. even as the weight went on to exhaust them, burdened by the responsibilities, legacy, and promises of a life they had no say in- of a person they never were.

... what of the fifth?

dark enchantress, though sealed, was not dead. her soul jam was still hers, right? and white lily had no kingdom, no subjects to morn her, or to wish for her return....

... mostly.

the kingdom of the faeries held her in dear regards. she'd been a friend and savior, bringing unfathomable power only outdone by their own monarch. They led her along on her quest for answers... and felt responsible for the following chaos.

dark enchantress... that was not the cookie they'd known. whatever happened, it was not white lily. Not to them. white lily was still out there, exhiled from herself. what she needed... was help!

so the faeries made a cookie. as best they could, they made White Lily cookie. she would be born anew as one of their own, her flowers not quite the same.. but still hers.

and carefully, they laid that husk where one day, her soul would find its way home again.

Valley Lily cookie did not awake until desperation grew high enough to force a lost soul into her body. And given life... she awoke. Confused, lost, and with no idea of who she was, where she was, and even what she was ... though far more dazed, Valley Lily was no different than the other young "reincarnations."

the only difference was now, that cycle of uncertainty was not at the hands of a kingdom. it was at the hands of cookies who had been forced to remember the lily of a different life. of cookies who looked at a lost stranger, and instead saw an old friend.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #cookie run rewrite #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #white lily cookie #dark enchantress cookie #how do you live up to a legacy you never knew? a life you never had?#whos the true you when the world tells you that you're somebody else?#when you're molded to fit a shape personality and life of someone far greater that came before?#after long enough; maybe your true self really has been reshaped into that long-lost hero.#the world needs them more than the nobody you were born as anyways. but still...#you feel something is so wrong about it all.#you feel that you will never truly be the one you're told you are.#because that cookie has been dead for a very. very. long time.#crk rewrite

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fricc-darn · 9 months ago

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Warning for abuse involving teens and adults (mental and physical), poor mental health, and just upsetting topics

None of them asked for this life, not in the slightest. Not one person was prepared for this to be the outcome of their ascension. Everyone wanted to go home. Whatever was left behind of their old lives, they'd gladly choose anything but this. It seemed like each day, someone new would be added to the system. So many people with their aspirations and desires ripped away from them. It was a cycle of tragedy.

The lives they had lived were difficult, cruel, and shameful. Being utterly disenfranchised meant that society would turn a blind eye to the most vulnerable. It made them easy targets, to be picked off the street like ripened berries. They were lulled into this fellowship with false promises of self-improvement and community.

To be told that the pain they felt was nothing but a wound that would soon heal with tougher skin. With guidance, their gifted potential would shine through. Every single person involved had a purpose. To live a devoted life to Luna's cause. An eternity of paradise awaited them after death.

The day of true enlightenment would come when midnight whispers came to them sweetly. When it happens, death shouldn't be feared but embraced, as they have surpassed this life. That is when this world and all of its unfairness would come to an end. They would survive. She had chosen for them to live. It had given them hope.

But those whispers never came. Yet, people were told their time had come.

If only they had known that they would be used as some kind of lab rat. Everyone's naiveté and what remained of their childlike wonder were weaponized against them repeatedly. Having their bodies humiliated in the name of spirituality. Their flesh was mangled by barbarism and left to rot. Ultimately, they would never be treated with the deserved humanity, even after death. If only they had known to stop feeding into the lies.

They were worn thin. Was anything they were taught real? It had to be, to some degree. This world was supposed to be salvation, but the skepticism couldn't be helped. They did what they were supposed to. Cleansing the filth that tainted their souls. Putting what little confidence they had left into Luna. A perfect fairytale for this never-ending nightmare. Maybe life would have been kinder if they weren't deeply troubled individuals. Loving parents? A stable environment? Better physical and mental health? Anything?

Yet, what could anyone do about what was said and done? This was a prison for tortured souls.

Not only were their experiences shared, but now so were their pain, their sadness, and their anger. A collective burning resentment felt so heavy that they wondered if they were all from the same womb. As if this was the family they craved.

They were one. With themselves and everyone in their...group. Expressing a newfound tenderness towards each other during their troubles. For some, memories were being stripped and forgotten after a few days. Others desperately clung on to what they could remember. The ability to live on after death was a true gift as much as it was a curse. A second chance, if you will. Was this a gift from man or Luna?

Truthfully, this new life was better to some degree. This wasn't a repeating lie they would say in an attempt to pacify their rapidly changing emotions. People don't suffer for nothing. There was meaning behind it. It was a beautiful weakness that easily bloomed like a sore. It was so human. A reminder of what they were no longer. They were now something much more than any person. Life was going to be different this time around. As a collective, they swore on it. For themselves and each other.

No one would have to endure the inescapable abuse that was inflicted upon them ever again. In this world, they were never hungry or cold; they had a place to sleep and clothes on their backs. Here, it was safe. No one could hurt them again, and they'd make sure of it.

The darkest parts of every soul, which were once hidden away, began to reveal themselves. Communal bitterness festered and spread like the plague. They were all told anything could happen in this world. They could be or do anything. In that case, they would do things they could only dream of. Everyone wished that they had lived life more selfishly, and now was their chance. If their souls were truly bound to this God-forsaken game, it would only make sense to treat life like one.

The network grew curious. For the first time, they had control over their lives. The roles have changed. It wanted to know what it was like to hurt someone. To feel how good it felt to break someone down to nothing. To have things go their way. They needed to hurt someone; it was instinctual. To prove to themselves that there was some bright side to this mess. That it has the ability to make people listen. Using the same methods that others have done to them.

Who they were as individuals mattered little. They'd make their presence known as one. It was only fair that after what they've been through, their amusement should be placed before all else. They deserved this; this was their reward! If only they had a fraction of this authority sooner.

#ben drowned #behavioral event network #creepypasta #jadusable arg #ben drowned headcanon #i LOVE BEN angst

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st4rd0lly · 1 month ago

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ＴＯＮＧＵＥＳ＆ＴＥＥＴＨ —

CONTENT WARNING : this fic series will contain DARK content , smut , age gap (reader is mid-late 20s while Nikolai is in his 30s) , probably inaccurate detective work descriptions , and religious themes. this does not follow canon and it is a non ability AU

chapter warnings : suggestive themes (angry sex gets mentioned once) ; firearm

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 : 𝐖𝐇𝐎 ?

A detective.

That’s what you are.

Or well, that’s what you were. You had left that life behind you, swore on it. You weren’t a terrible detective by any means, quite the opposite. You were notably the smartest detective in your city. Sharp and witty, reliable and smart. That’s what you prided yourself on. But with making bigger shoes, you made yourself nearly look like a clown when you stepped out of them. All it took was one case, one case to make you step down.

And like that, you were out of the game.

With no interest to push yourself forward in your career, you sidelined yourself much to everyone’s dismay. You had people relying on you, people who needed you. But a normal life is what you desired after what felt like an action film that lasted forever. It’s what you deserved.

You didn’t lose all that much like you expected though. People still respected you for what you did, your ex-coworkers still treated you like their own, they still come to you for advice and you gave them your best. You became a mentor for younger detectives, a rowdy but loveable group who wanted to follow your footsteps.

You were content with the life you led. All trauma considered, you’d say you’re doing pretty solid for what you’ve been through going through cases.

You were happy for once, you were content with this domestic life you’ve made for yourself.

"Someone tells me you’re sick of old games. Let’s play a new one. =)"

You repeated the note left on your window to your ex-work partner, Mikhail, on the phone. Staring at it with furrowed brows, you cursed to yourself. "I quit this shit for a fucking reason." With a groan, you slam yourself back down on the couch.

"Did you check security cameras?" Mikhail questioned, groaning along with you. He’s been by your side since your guys’ first day together, two peas in a pod. You still remember the days where you were just young rookies together. You guys weren’t Sherlock Holmes and Watson by any means, but some might argue that your dynamic duo could come close.

Your face fell into a deadpanned expression, "You really think I wouldn’t?"

"Hey, I’m just trying to make sure we covered all bases. But knowing you, you probably already did that so I guess it was a stupid question— which is besides the point though." You could tell that he was just at a lost as you are.

"Misha, I wanted to leave this stuff behind me." You said, a little more solemnly than you’d liked to admit. "I thought after I faded out in the system for a bit, things would be okay for me. Sure, we’ve made our enemies—"

"You especially."

"Yes, me especially. But I know that most of them are in prison and the others are respectable enough to do this stuff to my face instead of… whatever the fuck that is. I wanted out."

"And you will be out. One day, I promise you." Mikhail reassures, his usual lighthearted tone softening. "Do you think it could be the same guy from our last case together?" He asks.

And you wished you had an answer. The last case you ever took on as an official detective left you in pieces that you’re still trying to pick up to this day. There were too many missing factors but so many were coming to a horrific realization. There were no hints one moment and then the next, there were. Each step closer you thought you took, set you 10 paces back with little time to catch up. That case had flipped your life upside down and around. Like some sick cycle.

If it was the same bastard behind that case, you were sure that the old you would’ve jumped at the chance.

But you aren’t the person you were in the past, and you haven’t been for a long time.

Maybe this was exactly what the guy wanted, what they came here for. To wait for things to get calm till they could hit hard again. Or maybe, there was a chance that this note could’ve come from a new, completely different person. Someone who wanted to take out an old big shot to make themselves look even bigger. There was just too many open spaces with a huge gap of no information. It could be anything from anyone.

"I don’t know Misha, with the little to no info right now… it literally could be anyone." You admitted, not trying to even hide the defeat in your voice. Your brain searching, scanning, and recalling for anyone that stood out to you in your life. Someone who would mess with you like this, taunting from afar. It hits you like cold water in the morning. "Oh my god. What if it’s my ex?"

"You think you got yourself caught up in like a weird crazy ex revenge situation? What was the guy’s name again?" Mikhail questioned.

"Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol." You responded, rubbing at your temple. Fuck, if it really was Nikolai…

But that was so long ago, way before your last case. And that relationship was never going to last, the both of you knew that. You wanted different things, you two were different…it wouldn’t have worked out. Maybe he wanted Bonnie and Clyde, turn you away from the so called righteousness and justice that is detective work. Live out a life of crime. You never were aware of what he did for work, you were able to tell it was dangerous. And maybe in another life, he was able make you his Bonnie.

You made sure that this wasn’t that life.

Thinking back to all the times you’ve spent with him makes your heart has plunge into your stomach. You were aware that he wasn’t the greatest person to date. You said through heated kisses and angry sex that it was just the rush, the thrill of it all in the relationship you had with him that kept you around. Each time he could only laugh in your face. All his talk about freedom definitely added a new perspective to your life, but it was so extreme.

And oddly enough when you wanted to end it, he was very much less than pleased even though that’s all he’s ever wanted. To be free. He’s a walking contradiction though and he left your life without a trace. You refused to look back.

It wouldn’t make sense to mess up your life now.

….

When did he ever make sense?

"I’ll check in with the database, see what I can scoop up on him." Mikhail attempts to reassure you, though it does little to soothe your thoughts. He never knew about the complexity of your relationship with Nikolai. Just that it was strange. He didn’t know how dangerous he was.

But you weren’t about to tell him right now, not while it felt like someone was watching you. "Okay…"

"Did you ask your neighbors if they saw anything? What about that one neighbor across from you?" Mikhail suggested. "Take a picture of the note and I’ll drop by with some of the team by your place so we can investigate more. Better to not tamper with evidence so just use the picture to show your neighbors."

"Okay, yeah I’ll do that." You agreed, it wasn’t a bad idea. "Thank you Misha."

"I’ll be there in about fifteen. Go chat with your neighbors. Don’t die."

"Trying not to." You chuckled, hanging up the phone. You stood back up from the couch, looking at the window with disdain. The note was still there, staring back at you. Though you knew nothing was confirmed, you tried to find any hints of Nikolai’s presence. The only thing sticking out to you was the smiley, and that wouldn’t be viable evidence of anything. You shook your head, opening the camera app on your phone and snapping a picture.

Now that was done and over with. Time to talk to your neighbor.

Your neighbor was a relatively tall and attractive man you would say. You’ve never talked to him before, only seeing him for a brief moment when you walk to your car or when he goes out. Your window allows you a somewhat good view outside. Though you could also say that his appearance did make him stand out too.

Tossing on a jacket, you hoped your neighbor wouldn’t judge too hard if you were in your pajamas. It was still early in the morning when you woke up to that note.

You bite your tongue, you shouldn’t leave the house unarmed. Taking a quick trip back to your room, you put on your belt that you wear to do your mentor work. The one that’s meant to hold your firearm. You grab your gun in your drawer to put in your holster.

You opened the door, shivering a bit as the cool air hits your skin and hugged yourself tighter. Whoever put that note there must be really motivated to mess with you because who on earth would put a stupid note on a window when it’s this cold?

Taking a couple of steps towards his door, you placed a firm knock. You really hoped he was here. It would be an even shittier day if he wasn’t and you were waiting out in the cold longer than you needed to be. But thankfully, the door opens.

"May I help you?" The rich Russian accent caught you off guard, making you blink in surprise. You weren’t sure what to expect when he did speak but it wasn’t that.

You gave the man an apologetic smile, "Hi I’m so sorry to bother you early this morning but I was wondering if you had heard anything strange late at night or earlier in the morning? Or if you had seen anything weird?"

The man looks down at you for a moment and you could tell he was studying you. His eyes were probably the most vibrant shade of a deep purple hue that you had ever seen before. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, he had a good poker face you had to admit. He only tilts his head to the side, looking concerned. "I had not heard anything out of the ordinary. I usually am not here all that often because of work, but when I am here, I like to stay in my bedroom and rest."

He sounded genuine, and he definitely looked genuine. But those years you’ve spent as a detective grew your skills, and you’ve kept them sharp. You wouldn’t have been earnestly praised highly as a detective if you weren’t good at catching onto the small things. A blessing and a curse. There was something off about this neighbor of yours that you couldn’t place your finger on.

You couldn’t let him know that though, so you only shook your head again and waved your hand. "Ah, I’m so sorry again then. There was just a note left on my window and I was just wondering if anyone saw anything. It’s okay, thank you for your time."

"That sounds terrible, forgive me if I’m overstepping but are you certain it wasn’t your roommate playing some sort of prank?"

……

You could feel the gears in your head pause abruptly. You blink at him in confusion.

Roommate?

"I don’t have a roommate?" You clarified, raising a brow at his comment. But he only reciprocates your confused expression.

"Is that so? I was sure you did. There was this man I’ve seen at your place before quite often whenever I’m here." He tells you, and your mind goes into a frenzy. What the fuck was he talking about? Was he talking about Mikhail?

"I’m sorry, could you explain more?" You kept your tone polite, and it was obvious you weren’t expecting this. You were too distracted by the thoughts swirling in your head that you didn’t realize that you were shaking a bit from the weather.

"Here, you should come inside. I have some tea prepared for myself but there’s enough to share. I’ll tell you what I know. Part of it is that it’s bad manners to keep a guest outside in the cold." He opens the door more, stepping out of the way.

Jesus, you really did want to stop being dragged into these games.

#. . . words of the crimson moon —✫・゜・。.#bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #gn reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai x you #nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol x you #. . . jester at the house —✫・゜・。.

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deathworlders-of-e24 · 4 months ago

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Danny, Security Chief

Part 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t care if it ‘impedes the experiment’, I want him gone,” Danny said as calmly as he could, which apparently wasn’t calm enough, given that both Captain Skitch and Commander Koatil flinched away from him.

“Chief Ducane, please understand,” Skitch began, “that yes, while what Ensign Grite did was inexcusable, there’s-”

“Inexcusable? Are you fucking kidding me Skitch, he left part of his crew, your crew, out there to die while he ran away! I oughta go out there and kill him myself for that!”

“Chief Ducane, you will calm yourself now or we’ll be talking about your situation here instead, is that clear?” Koatil took a step forward, putting herself between him and the captain. Danny didn’t move an inch, just stared her down until finally Skitch spoke up again.

“Okay, cards on the table, as you humans say. We can’t replace Grite right now. I sent a request for relief personnel the moment I heard what happened, but GAIL command said they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, until at least half the mission duration was up.”

Skitch held his two main arms out in defeat.

“My hands are tied, Ducane. I want him gone as bad as you do, but until command sends us a replacement, we can’t kick him off the ship. However, he’ll be on limited duty, and of course, taken off the security personnel roster. He’ll be put on cleaning duty effective immediately, cleaning toilets or the like. Grite will be little more than a passenger until such time as we can remove him from the Noah without anyone back home being… noisy about it.”

Politics. Damn it.

Leaving less than satisfied at the decision, Danny Ducane left the captains office and stepped into the hall. The bastard in question, Grite, was stood at attention across the way, waiting to be called inside.

Danny saw red.

He stormed across the hall and got inches away from the Sed man’s face. Grite’s eye widened in alarm, and he seemed about to back away, except the wall blocked his escape. Danny didn’t touch him, didn’t wrap his hands around his neck or bury his fist in his gut, just slowly, deliberately, gave his only warning.

“If you ever, ever, endanger a member of this crew again, I’m going to cut pieces off you and throw what’s left out the fucking air lock.”

Danny could see the usual annoying pride in Grite’s eyes turn to fear, then anger, but before the stony alien could act the captain’s door opened again.

“Grite, get in here, now.”

Danny never wavered, didn’t look away from the Sed’s eyes. Finally, Grite blinked first, and awkwardly shuffled away into the office. The door hissed closed.

Danny went back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So there we were, trapped at… I think the humans called it an airport, with these smugglers trying to steal crystals from the Doun ambassadorial package, when in he comes, Ducane the Destroyer!”

It’d been a full cycle since Danny’s meeting with the Captain and Commander, and the team was gathered around the center console in the Security Center with Homet telling the same old story again, with the rest of the security force was eating it up as usual. Danny just rolled his eyes and smiled.

“Come on, don’t keep us in suspense!” Coola said, entranced, scaly tail swishing, “this is my favorite part!”

“This crazy human comes over the railing of the second level, rappels down 10 meters to the floor, firing for accuracy the entire time. He must’ve dropped 4 or 5 of them in a matter of seconds! Never seen anything like it, on any other planet. The man moved from cover to cover, and every time he looked in their direction, there were less and less hostiles than before! Never took a hit, never stopped moving. Finally he’s got the leader pinned up against a wall, and he’s begging us to get him away from the big bad human, and I swear, the Ambassador hired him on the spot for the rest of the delegation.”

“You tell that story a lot, Homet,” Danny said, adjusting his cap.

“It bears repeating!” Homet laughed. The rest of the team was looking at Danny like a movie star just walked into the room to sign autographs. Coola was looking star struck, Ritz in awe, and Hayte, who actually hadn’t heard the story yet, was looking at him incredulously. Danny shrugged, kind of noncommittal, like saying “hey, it happens kid, gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Anyway, listen up people. We have an important job here in the next few cycles,” Danny said, “We’re supposed to take on cargo from the Val’kao and transport it to Outpost 19 on the other side of the system. Apparently cargo consists of some artifacts found during a geological survey, and they wanted some extra muscle moving it.”

“That’s pretty cool, the Vale are one of the oldest species in the quadrant,” Coola said. “I heard the oldest ruins on their planet are over 50,000 years old.”

“What’s the catch Chief? We can’t just be playing with rocks, right?” Homet asked.

“The catch is, ancient Vale apparently used something called Vishal Dirac, which translates into Singing Iron these days.”

“Well that sounds… fun,” Ritz said, skeptically.

“Wait wait wait, I know what that is!” Coola said excitedly. “Yeah, they found a natural deposit of that stuff way back in the day too, on a mining expedition. It made the news on multiple planets before they censored the article. I only read it because our instructor made us do a report on it.”

“What is it?” Hayte asked.

“It’s this rare mineral found deep in the planets crust. Apparently they struck a piece of it by accident with some digging equipment, and it completely destroyed the dig site. The ancient Vale used it in their crafting all the time. Singing Iron takes shock waves and amplifies them a few thousand times until the shaking just explodes outwards.”

“Why the hell did they make tools out of it then?” Homet asked, “if the stuff is that volatile why mess with it at all?”

“Depending on how you refine it, it can be made into weapons or tools that can break through practically anything,” Danny explained. “They sent me that article too. Apparently the ancient Vale had a special method of smelting it to make drills or swords and stuff, made them practically unstoppable.”

“Well they didn’t conquer the galaxy, so I guess that wasn’t true,” said Hayte snidely.

“Yup, volcanic eruptions beat everything,” Danny said. “Anyway, they requested we bring the samples and artifacts to the outpost for research, and the cargo is going to be about half Singing Iron in the form of primitive tools. They got the stuff locked in stasis-gel capsules to make sure we don’t all die, so hopefully that’s checked off.”

“The real problem,” Danny continued, “is gonna be these guys.” He punched a code into the console and brought up a file. A series of images appeared in a hologram above the table. The images showed several individuals with purple skin and scales, faces covered in masks, carrying bags and crates.

“These guys call themselves the Staal Mirac. Intel says they’re from coastal regions of Vale, near the older cities in the mountains. They claim to be confiscating objects important to the history of their people, mainly through theft or extortion.”

“Any use of violence?” Homet asked.

“None that’s been accredited to them, but you never know.”

“They just want to keep their stuff right?” Hayte asked. “What are we supposed to do if they engage us?”

“Technically the ‘stuff’ belongs to the people of Vale, who are members of the GAIL. Their government requested the research of the Singing Iron be done off world as a safety precaution. If they show up, non lethal only. I’m not starting a firefight with a bunch of hippies.”

“Understood, commander.”

As Danny walked away to his office, he heard Ritz ask “what’s a hippie?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Translated to E24; Human; English]

[Both a historic find, and terrible tragedy today at the geological survey in the Vodek province, where 4 people lost their lives in a horrible accident. It’s unclear now just what exactly transpired, but initial reports are saying that a piece of mining equipment struck what seems to be a naturally occurring deposit of Vishal Dirac. Why this wasn’t found during previous scans of the region is unclear, but…]

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going nowhere. A planets worth of information on the Vale and Singing Iron barely covered two articles. Their government was working double time to ensure nobody learned about it. He’d had to use his GAIL command codes just to get clearance to read the barely 7 pages available at his security level. If this stuff was as dangerous as they said, Danny wanted to be as prepared as possible, and get it off his ship as quickly as he could.

Maybe some food would help clear his head. Danny grabbed a data pad and transferred the articles, leaving his office for the mess hall.

On the way there, he saw ensign Grite pushing a bucket around with a mop. His gray security uniform was replaced with a white jumpsuit, for the custodial staff. It had a bright yellow smear down the left side and on both knees, so he’d probably been cleaning something unsavory in the last few hours.

“You got a little something, right here,” Danny said as he walked past, making a ‘everywhere’ gesture. Grite glared at him, but said nothing. Danny saw 2 of the other 3 Sed down the hall a ways, one male and one female. Maybe they’d come to see what had happened to their 4th, but Danny didn’t say anything to them as he passed, just nodded and moved on.

The mess hall was probably the most interesting place on the ship, at least in Danny’s opinion. The Vending Machines in use on board the Noah might have been made on Earth (with the help of some alien tech to get things started) but they were used by everyone on board. Each unit had been programmed to produce cuisine from each member planet in the GAIL, so everyone had a little slice of home to enjoy during the year long mission. So many people in one place, interacting and living together, it honestly brought a tear to Danny’s eye. The safety of these people was his responsibility, and he was glad they were happily going about their day without worry.

Danny’s Grandfather had been a marine during his service, had fought to bring peace to the Earth during the initial shock of finding out they weren’t alone in the galaxy. A lot of people had trouble adjusting to a new truth. Finding out you weren’t the center of the universe was apparently a hard pill to swallow for some. Rebellions, wars, some pretty bad stuff happened in the first year or two before everything settled. His mom joined the service later as a pilot, flying rescues and aid all over the planet. She had said it was the right thing to do. People were scared and confused, so she felt a need to help, felt it ‘in her bones,’ she’d say.

“It’s the kind of thing heroes do, right Danny?” he remembered her saying one time, after coming back from some mission on the other side of the world.

Danny had always wanted to help people. When he was younger, he’d play knight with sticks and tubes and such with the neighborhood kids, saving the day and fighting bad guys. He didn’t really get the whole ‘soldier’ thing as a kid, but he understood that his family helped people, even the ‘new’ people, just like the knights of the round table from the stories his mom read to him before bed. Danny always figured he’d wield a sword and shield instead of a high powered plasma rifle, but the concept was similar. He’d followed in his family’s wake, taking up arms to help keep people safe.

Danny typed the command into the Vending Machine and got his own little slice of home to eat, a thick slice of pizza with 3 different types of meat on it. He saw a table taken up by the Bravo team from security and asked if he could sit down. He made small talk, gave them a brief overview of the mission and told them to expect a more extensive document to be sent to their data pads, and ate his food.

From across the mess hall he saw the 4 Sed make their way into the room, skip the Vending Machines entirely, and take up a small table against the wall. They seemed… uncomfortable in Danny’s eyes, but they didn’t look outwardly hostile to the other crew anymore. The same couldn’t be said for anyone else though. Apparently word of Grite’s demotion had made its rounds, as well as the reason why, and tables near them got up and moved away. Danny couldn’t say he blamed them. Leaving a man behind was unthinkable to a Marine. If anything, Danny was surprised the other Sed still interacted with the coward Grite. He’d read up on them, the Sed, the Borin, supposedly one of the most ‘ancient races in the galaxy’. They were supposed to be honorable warriors, but Danny had yet to see anything even remotely resembling honor.

Supposedly, the Stone Men, or the Sed, claimed to be the oldest race there was. They were prideful, often called arrogant, of their stony exterior. Their exoskeleton was said to be the mark of their superiority, able to take ray fire without giving way. And apparently, that ‘Highest Peaks’ thing Grite had called himself was the title given to only their most experienced warriors.

Danny hadn’t been that impressed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Noah dropped from WARP at the rendezvous point right on schedule. The Val’kao was a few thousand meters in front of them, waiting.

“Helmsman, bring us around to port, and send word the shuttle bay to get ready for our visitors,” Skitch said.

“Acknowledged.”

“Captain, if you don’t mind, I’d like to be down there to meet them myself,” Danny said from his station.

“Feel free, Chief.”

Danny got up and left the bridge. Walking past the communication center on the way to the shuttle bay, he saw one of the Sed coming out, the female, her stony exterior a lighter tan than her fellows, like the color of good wheat.

There was something there Danny was seeing that he couldn’t reconcile. Her yellow uniform marked her as a communications officer, so it made sense that she’d be coming out of the comm room. There was a ship closing in that would need to stay in radio contact with them, so it made more sense for her to be in the room than not. For all intents and purposes, the Sed woman being there made total sense to any logically minded being.

But that didn’t mean that Danny couldn’t see all the ways it was wrong too. She was staring at him as he walked the hall, her rocky fingers gripping the data pad a little too tight, she flinched ever so slightly when she locked eyes with him. It made perfect sense for her to be there in that moment but every instinct Danny Ducane ever trained was screaming that something was wrong.

So he took note of it. Of everything. He never slowed down, never missed a beat, just continued walking down the hall like his brain hadn’t made the decision to investigate every detail of sensory data it collected. The whole situation, as it was, lasted a grand total of 8 seconds. And then he was past it, in the lift, and on the way to the shuttle bay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cargo transfer went smoothly. Various I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Hands shook. The crew from the Val’koa looked relieved when the Singing Iron was off their ship. The stasis gel capsules looked like someone had taken a ton of jello and suspended souvenirs from a museum gift shop in them.

A couple of artifacts had caught the security crew’s eyes. Coola seemed fascinated with a set of drill bits and pick axes. Ritz was looking over a series of what looked like blacksmith tools, long pairs of tongs and a narrow hammer. One artifact in particular caught Danny’s eye. It’s looked like a big pitch fork, but the prongs were all sharpened to a razors edge. The data pad said it was an ancient Vale vibrating sword. Apparently the 13 prongs were struck on the ground to set the body shaking before emitting a massive sonic wave in the direction of the enemy.

“Cool,” Danny said quietly. Maybe it wasn’t a knight’s sword, but hey, swords of any kind have a kind of magic to them.

“Didn’t they make armor or shields or anything to play defense with?” Homet asked, looking at the checklist.

“The stuff vibrates so hard it would sheer your organs apart, bud,” Danny said.

“Oh. Makes sense.”

“Okay guys, once we get all this loaded up, it’s a straight shot to outpost 19.”

“I don’t get it Chief,” Hayte started. “if the thieves wanted to take the cargo, why not just take it now? The outpost would have more security and much better defenses than a freighter in orbit.”

“Maybe they thought it would be safer in a more stable environment,” Danny said. “Any of this stuff takes a bolt of plasma fire and it could rip a hole in the ship.”

“Or maybe,” said a new voice, “only one of the Staal Mirac had the nerve to try and take them from a GAIL ship!”

The group turned in unison, seeing a lone figure. He was wearing a cargo runner uniform, the same as the rest of the Val’koa crew, and in his hands was a Vale pistol. His purple skin had splashes of scales across his hands and up his neck, his head wrapped in a bandana with a mask around his face. To Danny eyes he couldn’t have been more than 20 years old in human years, maybe younger. This was a kid, no doubt about it.

“Nobody move!” The Vale kid said. Danny could see a slight tremble in the hand holding the weapon. He was standing only 20 feet away, more than close enough for anyone to take a clean shot. More than close enough for one of them to get shot, too. They did as they were told.

“Is that your hippie, sir?” Ritz asked quietly, hands raising slowly into the air. Danny ignored him, wishing he’d put his work belt on. What good was a stun gun when it was in your office?

“Now,” said the young man, “you’re going to load this into a shuttle for me, and you,” he pointed at Danny with his free hand, “are going to sit in there with me while they do it.”

Danny said nothing, just nodded, and kept his hands raised as he walked slowly into the nearest shuttle.

He sat down in one of the seats while the Vale boy took the pilots chair. He hit a button and the door sealed shut, locking them in, then another to begin the engine firing sequence.

“You know your way around one of these,” Danny said. “You a pilot?”

“Yes,” they said shortly. “Get on your communicator and tell them to begin loading the artifacts.”

“What’s your plan here?” Danny asked. “Take a GAIL officer hostage, steal one of our shuttles, live happily ever after with those other thieving friends of yours?”

“They are not my friends,” said the Vale boy. “They are liars, and they are scoundrels. They stole those other artifacts to sell to the highest bidder, they do not care about our history, our culture!”

“Is that why you left them behind? So they couldn’t sell off what belonged to all the people of Vale?”

They said nothing. Danny could see little beads or blue sweat on their forehead, but it wasn’t even warm in the shuttle. They took their mask off and wiped their face before tossing it aside. This kid was young even by human standards.

“What’s your name kid?”

“… my name is Valco, and I am not a child.”

“No, of course not, you got a stolen shuttle and a gun on me, that makes you a man don’t it?”

“You would mock me when I could kill you right here?” Valco jabbed the gun just a little too close. Faster than he could think, Danny’s hands shot out and snatched the ray gun from out of the kid’s hands.

“I think I would, yeah,” Danny said, dismantling the weapon. When it was 9 parts on the floor, he looked at the Vale known as Valco. He looked confused, slowly morphing into scared. Neither of them moved.

“Okay, Valco, how long were you acquainted with the Staal Mirac?” Danny asked.

“What?”

“It’s just a question bud. I don’t think it was too terribly long if you’re opposed to their views this badly.”

“I- I- I joined them, a [zelen] [English: month] ago. They were at the grand market looking for supporters, to trick!”

“Easy, easy kid, you’re alright. I just have a couple more questions for you,” Danny said gently. He moved his booted foot to cover the blaster parts just in case.

“Why are you speaking to me like a friend, you are not. I am nobody to you.”

“You’re right. Hello, my name is Daniel Ducane, but you can call me Danny. It’s what friends call me,” he said, as mellow as possible. The kid looked like he was about to stroke out.

“See? Now we’re friends. Danny and Valco, thick as… well, apparently not thieves, which is great!” Danny chuckled. “So I’m assuming you overheard some stuff in that club that didn’t sound great, so now you’re running solo to keep Vale history safe, am I close?”

“What?” Valco said again, visibly sweating bullets now. Danny had to take a new approach. This kid wasn’t a criminal, wasn’t a bad guy, he was just a kid who in his own crazy way was trying to do the right thing, or at least what he thought was right.

“Okay… alright, let’s do this. We’ll make a game out of it, yeah? Do you have 20 questions on Vale?”

Valco shook his head.

“Well it goes something like this, I guess. You ask me a question, I’ll answer honestly, then I’ll ask you one, and so on and so on, okay?”

Valco nodded.

“You first, go ahead,” Danny said. Valco looked at him blankly.

“Why did you take apart the gun?”

“Because if I just left it sitting around, either of us could be tempted to use it. Better if all we can do in here is talk now.” Danny applied pressure to his foot and felt something crack beneath it. Good riddance.

“My turn, okay? Why did you do all this knowing the Staal Mirac were fakes?”

“…because my people are forgetting their culture. We were warriors, we were explorers, and now we are just… just miners, giving pieces of our planet and our history away to people who are not Vale.”

“I get that. You feel like the Vale’s identity is fading away, right?”

“Yes, exactly!” Valco said. “I thought the Staal Mirac understood this, but they do not, they are the problem, selling away pieces of our soul to make profit,” he spat out the word. “I used their name so people would not come looking for me afterwards.”

“Smart, kid,” Danny admitted.

“You asked a question, yes? It is my turn again.”

Danny laughed and nodded.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

There it was.

“Well Valco, you stowed away aboard a ship, impersonated an officer, and held another at gunpoint. And tried to steal a shuttle,” Danny said flatly. Valco’s face dropped further at each word.

“But here’s my input on this. Cargo ships have terrible crew logs. Stuff falls through the cracks all the time.”

Valco looked up, confused.

“What are you-”

“And you didn’t really do anything while aboard the Noah, just kinda sat around and talked more than anything.”

Valco’s mouth hung open in disbelief.

“Honestly, if anything you were actually a huge help in catching known thieves on your planet, the Staal Mirac! Assuming you are going to tell me where they are, yeah?”

Valco’s eyes widened.

“Yes, yes, I know exactly where they are, and I know where the artifacts from other robberies are being stored!”

“Okay then, that’s sorted,” Danny said. “Look kid… Valco, you seem like a good guy. Just got a little confused and made a mistake. So since you didn’t hurt anyone, I’m gonna stick my neck out for you. Here’s the deal…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BANG BANG BANG!

Ritz was banging on the shuttle door with the butt of his rifle while the others were getting into position. Chief Ducane had turned his radio off when he’d gone inside with the Vale, and that had been 20 minutes ago. The small ship had began takeoff preparations, but just as suddenly it had powered down. What was really worrying them was Danny still hadn’t gotten in contact with them.

Just before they were about to start burning a hole in the door with a laser drill, static popped across their comms.

“So if you all could not shoot us when the door opens, I won’t have to dock anyone’s pay, okay?”

“Chief!” Coola cried, relieved, “Are you okay? Did… is the Vale-”

“My new friend Valco here is just fine, and there’s no threat guys, so you can power down those rifles I know you have trained on the door, okay?”

The shuttle door opened, and there was Danny, dusting his hands together. Valco stood behind him, but Danny assured everyone it was fine.

“Homet, get me a line to the Vale security office down on the planet. We know where the Staal Mirac are hiding now.”

“Sir?”

“Today man, before they move.”

“Acknowledged.” Homet took off at a jog to the communications center.

“Coola, Ritz, does the captain know what happened here?”

“We sent a report when you went in, but…” they both shrugged.

“Send another, tell Skitch everything is fine, and we have a guest that needs something to eat. I’ll be in the mess hall with Valco here.”

“Chief?” Haute said questioningly.

“Yeah?”

“We’re not shooting the hippie right?”

“Correct. And he’s not a hippie. You’re a good kid, right Valco?”

Valco nodded.

“See? Totally fine. Now, about that grub I was talking about…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outpost 19 was a refurbished mining rig on an asteroid in the outer stretch of the system. Reinforced walls and deep foundations made for a good environment to test dangerous materials. The Noah sat in the port while the unloading process was carried out.

In the mess hall, once Danny got some decent food in him, Valco really opened up. He told him where the actual Staal Mirac were hiding, what buyers they used, everything. By the time Danny fed him some desserts, Valco trusted him like they spent years together instead of a few hours.

After he was done, Danny walked him back to the shuttle bay.

“So tell me again, what are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to assist in the artifact transfer to outpost 19, then take a shuttle back to Vale with the investigators. Show them where the thieves are hiding.”

“And then?”

“I’m going to send communications to your friend in the embassy,” Valco nodded, “who will check up on the artifacts for me from time to time.”

“Good. Now here’s my information. I’m gonna call you myself in a week, see how you’re doing, make sure you’re staying out of trouble. And if you need anything, you call me, okay?”

Valco nodded, clutching his new comm-link.

“I can’t thank you enough, Mr. Danny,” he said.

“It’s just Danny, kid, we’re friends remember?”

Valco boarded the transfer shuttle and they were off, flying out to Outpost 19. Homet, who’d been standing nearby watching, lumbered over.

“Just when I think you humans can’t surprise me anymore… that was a real nice thing you did for that kid, Danny,” he said.

“He was just a little lost. Everyone’s been that age where they feel the urge to go save the world somehow. He’s just more proactive than some.”

“Could be he ends up in the GAIL fleet if the feeling’s strong. You said he was a pilot? Could be our next helmsman!” Homet laughed.

Danny hoped not. Kids should get to live peacefully, even the big ones like Valco. Leave the fighting to the grownups.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain this to the captain before he blows an antenna,” Danny said.

After he was gone, Homet looked across the expanse of space while the hangar doors were still open.

“You humans are so weird,” he said. “Hope you never stop surprising me.”

#deathworlders of e24 #humans are deathworlders #humans are weird #humans are space oddities #humans are space orcs #humans are strange #humans are space australians #earth is space australia #humans are insane #humans are terrifying

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